


Midnight Confessions

by Chazzam



Category: Glee, Thelma and Louise (1991)
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 09:24:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 57,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chazzam/pseuds/Chazzam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Thelma and Louise Klaine AU with some serious liberties taken (and NO major character death).  Kurt convinces Blaine, his best friend, to take a break from his emotionally abusive husband and spend a weekend with him in the mountains of West Virginia.  But when they stop for some drinks along the way, things take a horrific turn.  </p><p>And then things start to get interesting.</p><p>Note: It is NOT necessary to watch Thelma and Louise in order to understand and (hopefully) enjoy this fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as part of the Blaine Big Bang on Livejournal. Please see the FIC MASTERPOST for detailed warnings and disclosures (see the beginning of chapter 1 for link).
> 
>  
> 
> I highly recommend checking out the fantastic artwork accompanying this fic by Volsura (which you can also see at the LJ masterpost), and I can't thank my beta, Stut-ter, enough for all of her help and encouragement.

***PLEASE SEE[FIC MASTERPOST](http://chazzamba.livejournal.com/7744.html) FOR IMPORTANT WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC BEFORE READING!***

 

 

**Saturday, 9:39 a.m. - 4:43p.m.**

**New York**

 

The bar was so different during the day.

****  
Instead of the loud, steady thump of a techno beat and sweaty, half-naked men grinding against one another between drinks,  [ soft jazz played ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9tcFRtL5U2c) at a volume comfortable for conversation while the patrons ate brunch and chatted like civilized human beings.     
  
Kurt smiled as he placed two fresh mimosas neatly on cocktail napkins in front of the young couple at the bar.  Normally Kurt preferred to bartend at night, but Trent had allowed him to pick up the morning shift so that he could get his hours in and leave for his trip with Blaine while it was still light out.   
  
“You boys are a little young to be smoking, aren't you?” Kurt asked lightly, glancing at the pack of Parliament Lights next to one of the napkins. “Ruins your sex drive."   
  
The boy closest to the pack rolled his eyes as if being lectured by his mother.  “I've been trying to get him to quit,” his boyfriend said with a sigh and a shrug.   
  
Kurt felt his own smile widen as Trent walked toward him brandishing Kurt's cell phone, signifying break time.  Trent was easy-going enough as a boss, but he did insist that all employees leave their cell phones in a fish bowl in his office when they were on the clock.  Kurt understood, but it didn't stop his texting finger from getting itchy throughout his shift.  There were always so many things that he saw and heard that no one but Blaine would really appreciate.   
  
Kurt walked out back entrance to the bar with his phone, and lit a cigarette after he dialed.  He leaned back against the cool brick of the exterior building, a familiar warm twist invading his belly as his best friend answered the phone.   
  
“Hey there, little housewife, how's tricks?”   
  
Blaine laughed softly.  “The fact that I work from home does not make me a housewife, Kurt.”   
  
“Yeah?  Someone should tell your husband that,” Kurt muttered.  “You all packed?” He added quickly before Blaine could start to defend Dave.  “We are out of here tonight!”   
  
“Yeah, I just...um...I still have to ask Dave if I can go,” Blaine admitted.   
  
Kurt closed his eyes and took a deep drag on his cigarette.  He exhaled with a heavy sigh.   
  
“Blaine.”   
  
“I know, Kurt, okay?  I just...he's been so busy lately, and he likes having me home when he-”   
  
“For god's sake, Blaine, is he your husband or your father?” Kurt snapped.  “It is just for two days.   I'm sure he'll manage to order his own takeout while you're gone.”   
  
Blaine just sighed.  He sounded so tired.   
  
“Tell him you're going with me,” Kurt added, trying to lighten the mood.  “Tell him I'm having a nervous breakdown.”   
  
Blaine snorted.  “That won't carry much weight with Dave, he already thinks you're completely insane.  Um...are you at work, Kurt?”   
  
Kurt took one final drag before stamping his cigarette out with his heel.  “No.  I'm calling from Anna Wintour's penthouse.”   
  
“I'll call you right back,” Blaine said hurriedly.  Kurt rolled his eyes.   
  


 

** ~000~ **

  
**** Blaine ended the call with the small wave of sadness that always seemed to wash over him when he had to get off the phone with Kurt.  Their conversations were the best part of Blaine's day without fail.   
  
“Dave?” Blaine called, pulling Dave's favorite travel mug out of the cabinet and filling it with fresh coffee.  “Dave, you'd better hurry if you don't want to be late!”  Blaine added a healthy splash of soy milk to the mug before securing the lid.   
  
Dave walked into the kitchen, already radiating intense irritation.  “ Damn it, Blaine, how many times do I have to tell you not to holler like that? You know I can't stand to hear your voice hollering at me first thing in the morning!”   
  
Blaine forced his face into some semblance of a smile as he reached up to give Dave a quick peck on the lips and straighten his collar.  “I'm sorry, babe.  I just don't want you to be late.”   
  
Dave grunted and took the travel mug from Blaine's hand.   
  
“Um...Dave?” Blaine asked nervously.   
  
“Hmm?” Dave replied, focused on typing something into his cell phone.   
  
Blaine swallowed.  “Have a good day at work,” he said weakly, cursing his own cowardice.   
  
“Thanks,” Dave muttered, not looking up from what he was doing.   
  
“Um...sweetie?”   
  
Dave let out a loud, exaggerated sigh.   “What?”   
  
Blaine let his gaze fall to the floor.  “Do you want anything special for dinner tonight?”   
  
“No, Blaine, I don't give a shit what we have for dinner,” Dave snapped.  “I may not even make it home for dinner tonight.  You know how weekends  are.”   
  
Blaine's posture stiffened.  Yes, he knew exactly how weekends were.  Especially since that willowy twink with the fantastic ass had started answering phones at the dealership in the evenings.   
  
“It's funny how many people want to buy a car at nine o'clock on a Saturday night,” Blaine mused, unable to keep a trace of bitterness out of his voice.  “You'd almost think they'd want to forget about it for the weekend, wouldn't you?”   
  
Dave gave Blaine a hard look.  “Well, then,” he responded icily, “It's a good thing you're not regional manager, then, and I am.”   
  
Blaine had to fight not to roll his eyes in an incredibly Kurt-esque manner.   
  
Dave took a sip of his coffee, then ran to the sink to spit it out, his eyes wide with anger.  “God damn it, Blaine, did you put that fucking soy shit in here again?”   
  
Blaine swallowed, backing away slightly.  Dave could look downright menacing when he was angry.  “I just...it's your cholesterol, Dave.  The doctor said...”   
  
“ Fuck that dyke!  What does she know anyway?  Do I look like I have a fucking vagina?  Stop being such a goddamned fag and get me some cream from the fridge.”   
  
Blaine froze.  “Dave, you know I hate it when you use that word.”   
  
“Well, stop acting like such a limp-wristed nancy and I won't have to,” Dave sneered, getting the cream from the fridge himself and refilling his mug.  “I swear, Blaine, you're spending way too much time with Hummel.  He's starting to rub off on you.”   
  
And with that, Dave headed out the door, shaking his head and continuing to mutter to himself. He didn't look at Blaine or even say goodbye.   
  
Blaine stood in the kitchen and blinked back tears, his hands balled into fists at his side.  He would not cry.  He wouldn't.   It wasn't like this was particularly unusual behavior.  And really, he probably shouldn't have put the soy milk in there, he was just trying to...   
  
He closed his eyes and heard Kurt's voice ringing in the back of his mind.   “How long are you going to keep making excuses for him, Blaine?”   
  
Blaine opened his eyes and took a deep breath, wiping the tears that had inevitably escaped from his cheeks.  He picked up his phone and dialed.   


** ~000~ **

  
**** Kurt heard Trent pick up the bar phone as he finished mixing a bloody mary.     
  
“Good morning, Songbirds Bar and Grill...why yes he is.  Is this Blaine?   Blaine, sweetheart, when are you gonna run away with me?”   
  
Kurt quickly set the drink down in front of the woman who had ordered it, rushing over to grab the phone before Trent could fluster Blaine too badly with his relentless flirting.   
  
“Not this weekend, honey,” Kurt cut in, prying the phone from his boss's hand.  “This weekend he's running away with me.”   Trent sighed and shook his head, grabbing a couple of menus and heading over to where two new patrons had just walked in the door.      
  
Kurt smiled as he settled the phone against his ear.  “So.  What did he say?”   
  
“What time are you picking me up?” Blaine asked, and Kurt could hear the smile in his voice.   
  
Kurt glanced at the clock.  “How about 4:30?  I'm sure Trent will be enough of a sweetheart to let me leave when Brittany gets here,” Kurt added, batting his eyelashes at Trent playfully as he joined Kurt behind the bar.  Trent rolled his eyes but nodded his assent, filling two water glasses to hand to one of the waitresses.   
  
“What kind of stuff should I bring?” Blaine asked, biting his lip.  He didn't travel often, and his modern Williamsburg apartment didn't have much to sustain him outside of a distinctly urban setting.   
  
“I don't know...warm clothes?  It's supposed to be cold in the mountains.  I'm just going to bring everything,” Kurt answered with a shrug.   
  
“OK.  I will too, then”.   
  
“Oh!  And steal Dave's fishing stuff.”   
  
Blaine wrinkled his nose.   “You want to go fishing?”   
  
“The cabin is on a lake in the mountains , Blaine,” Kurt answered, as if he were explaining a simple math problem to a slow child.  “Of course we're going fishing.  You know – male bonding and all that.”   
  
Blaine grinned.  “But I don't know how to fish.”   
  
“Well neither do I, Blaine, but Dave does it, so how hard can it be?  Look, I have to get back to work, Trent's giving me a look.   I'll see you this afternoon.”   
  
“OK,” Blaine agreed, excitement rising in his voice.  “I'll see you then.”   
  
“When are you two just going to fuck already?” Trent asked when Kurt hung up the phone.   
  
“I'm not even going to dignify that with a response,” Kurt said airily.  “You know it isn't like that between Blaine and me.”   
  
Trent muttered something along the lines of “just keep telling yourself that.”  Kurt chose to ignore it.   
  


** ~000~ **

  
Kurt  [ hummed along with the radio ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ios61sq9QVA)  softly as he finished packing for the trip after work.   **** It had been far too long since he and Blaine had spent any real quality time together despite talking every day, and he couldn't wait.  Maybe getting him out of the city, out of that damn gorgeous apartment where he lived like a near-prisoner, would allow him to finally open up his eyes and-   
  
Well.  Kurt had been hoping to see Blaine summon enough of a backbone to leave Dave for close to five years now.  There was no reason to believe that a long weekend in the mountains would do anything to change that, but at least it was something.  And if nothing else, at least Kurt got his friend back for a little while.   
  
Kurt knew that Dave hated seeing he and Blaine spend time together.  He was fully prepared for his phone to ring and Blaine to tell him that he couldn't go after all, and Kurt was not ashamed to admit that he was packing perhaps twice as fast as usual in an effort to outpace such an inevitability.  Dave was far too paranoid and insecure to allow Blaine to leave the city without him for the most part, and there was also the fact that Dave hated Kurt.  He hated him.   
  
It wasn't just because of Kurt's “bad influence” on Blaine, either.  Kurt knew it had a lot to do with the fact that Dave had gone after Kurt first, only pursuing Blaine after being flatly rejected.  It also, in all probability, had to do with the fact that Dave had gotten drunk and kissed Kurt at a Christmas party two years earlier.  Kurt told Blaine about it immediately, and it was the closest Blaine ever came to actually leaving Dave.   
  
But he didn't leave.  Not even after that.   
  
Kurt finished his packing and called for a cab to take him to the storage facility where he kept his car.  He knew it was stupid to hold onto it, especially given how expensive it was to store it in the city.  But it had been his father's pride and joy, a mint-condition 1969 black Camaro convertible, and Kurt couldn't bear to part with it.  It also made him feel absolutely amazing to drive it on the rare occasion when he took it out of the city.   
  
Kurt texted Blaine at a red light when he was five minutes away, and he nearly hit a fire hydrant, he was laughing so hard when he finally pulled up in front of Blaine's building.  Blaine was struggling to hold four enormous bags, a giant kerosene lantern, two fishing poles, and a length of industrial-strength extension cord.   
  
“Are you having a sidewalk sale?” Kurt called to him.  “Because I thought we were planning to go away for the weekend.”   
  
Blaine rolled his eyes, stumbling to catch one of the fishing poles as it teetered over, dropping two bags in the process.   
  
“Are you going to come help me or are you just going to sit there and mock?”   
  
“Mocking is a very undervalued art form,” Kurt sniffed, but smiled fondly at his friend and cut the engine, smoothly leaping over the side of the car to join Blaine on the sidewalk.   
  
Blaine handed him the lantern, and Kurt nearly dropped it when it turned out to be about five times heavier than what he was expecting.  “Blaine, the place may not have wifi, but it does  have electricity.  I really don't think we'll be needing this.”   
  
Blaine shrugged and watched Kurt begin to carry the lantern back toward the building.  “Wait, no, I want to bring it anyway,” he blurted.  “Just in case.”   
  
Kurt arched an eyebrow so high it nearly disappeared into his hairline.  “In case of what?”   
  
“In case...I don't know...there's a mass breakout from whatever maximum security federal prison is nearby, because it's the mountains of West Virginia and you just know there's probably one in the general proximity, and a bunch of ax murderers and...and gay bashers are on the loose and they come to the cabin and cut off the electricity and try to kill us.”   
  
Kurt stared at Blaine for a long, long moment.  “Sure, Blaine,” he conceded finally.  “If that happens, I'm sure we'll find this lantern extremely helpful.”   
  
Kurt ended up throwing the lantern in the backseat – as much to avoid hauling it back up the stairs to Blaine's apartment as to placate Blaine.  Kurt turned around to see Blaine behind him, his small frame all but buried beneath the sea of belongings hanging off of him.   
  
“You're like that hoarder muppet from Labyrinth,” Kurt laughed, taking the fishing pole and one of Blaine's bags.  They finished loading up the car, and Kurt stopped Blaine before climbing in.   
  
“Not so fast.  This is the first time I've actually gotten you to leave the city in the eight years that I've known you, Blaine.  This calls for photographic documentation.”     
  
Blaine grinned.   
  
Kurt reached into one of his duffel bags and carefully pulled out a linen pouch, from which he withdrew the antique Polaroid camera he had brought.  Blaine's eyes widened in pleasure – he loved old gadgets; cameras and record players and radios in particular.  Seeing Blaine's face light up was, admittedly, one of the reasons Kurt had brought the Polaroid along instead of just using the camera on his phone.   
  
Kurt flushed when he realized his own subconscious motivation for bringing the camera, but he tried not to think on it too deeply.  Friends did things like that, right?  Friends made little gestures just to see each other smile....   
  
Right?   
  
It wasn't as if he was still pining or anything.  He'd gotten over that years ago.   
  
He had.   
  
Hadn't he?   
  
Kurt shook his head to clear it as Blaine crowded in close.  Kurt pressed their cheeks together and held up the camera, their smiles almost too wide for their faces, waiting for the perfect moment to take a perfect shot.   


 


	2. Chapter 2

**Saturday, 4:43p.m. - 8:29p.m.**

**New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania**

  
Blaine was starting to wonder if he'd made the right decision.  
  
Not his decision to take the vacation with Kurt.  He had absolutely no doubt in his mind that that had been the right decision.  The moment he made it he put his phone on silent, throwing it in a suitcase once he'd received Kurt's text.  
  
He would call Dave – or maybe text him, if he wanted to reduce his stress even further – once they'd gotten to the cabin.  Dave would be furious, there was no way around it, but Kurt was right – Dave was Blaine's husband, not his father, and if their relationship couldn't survive Blaine's insistence on a bit of autonomy, it was in even worse shape than Blaine already feared.  
  
No, the decision Blaine was worrying over was made manifest by the heavy metal object in his messenger bag, the heavy metal object that was fully loaded, even if it did have the safety on.  
  
Blaine didn't even know how to shoot; he had never used a gun in his life, didn't even like having one in the apartment.  But Dave had insisted, and...well, whatever Dave wanted seemed to be what inevitably happened.  
  
But Kurt knew how to shoot.  When he had told Blaine as much, Blaine had been utterly unable to mask his surprise.  Kurt had simply rolled his eyes and said: “I grew up in Ohio, Blaine, of course I know how to shoot,” by way of explanation.  
  
Blaine chewed on his lip for a moment and contemplated.  At the next red light they hit, Blaine finally pulled the gun out of his bag.  
  
“Kurt?  Um...would you hold on to this for me?”  
  
Kurt turned to Blaine with a look of mild curiosity, his eyes going wide when he saw what Blaine was holding out to him.  The car lurched slightly – Kurt must have momentarily taken his foot off the gas pedal in his shock – before Kurt seemed to regain his usual collected demeanor.  
  
“Jesus Christ, Blaine!  What are you even doing with that?  Oh my god!”  
  
Blaine ducked his head in embarrassment. “I don't know...serial killers, bears, homophobes...what if the townspeople try to lynch us or something?  I just...I figured...”  
  
“Blaine,” Kurt said shakily as the the car began moving again.  “That is...you do realize that is a Jericho 941, don't you?”  
  
Blaine looked at him blankly.  
  
“They were developed by the Israeli army, and – it's just a really serious gun, that's all.  My dad used to...”    
  
Kurt trailed off.  It had been four years since his father died, but there were still moments when he seemed to radiate grief like it was a fresh wound.  Blaine felt a sudden strong urge to touch him.  He laid the hand that wasn't holding the gun on Kurt's shoulder.  Kurt glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and gave him a small, private smile.  
  
“I'm just surprised you let Dave keep that lying around,” Kurt finally said.  “I know how you feel about gun control.”  
  
“Well, I wouldn't use the term let...” Blaine muttered, hoping they could change the subject soon.  He wasn't in the mood to field Kurt's scathing (however valid) criticisms of Blaine's marriage at the moment.  
  
Kurt sighed.  “All right, just put it in my messenger bag.  And please tell me the safety is on.”  
  
Blaine rolled his eyes.  “Yes, Kurt.”  Dave hadn't actually taught Blaine to shoot, but he had made sure Blaine knew how to properly pull a gun on someone should the occasion arise.  
  
Blaine tucked the gun into Kurt's bag, already feeling an enormous surge of relief at transferring it into Kurt's custody.  Blaine had never questioned how oddly and perfectly safe being with Kurt made him feel.  Safe and warm and loved, and–  
  
Well, and everything he was meant to feel when he was with his husband, not his best friend.  
  
Blaine sighed and closed his eyes, letting the breeze ruffle the few curls that had broken free from the gel in his hair.  Kurt and Blaine had met during their freshman year in college.  There had been an instant and intense attraction between them about which they had never spoken, but which Blaine was sure had been mutual at the time.  But Kurt had had a boyfriend, and he and Kurt were nothing if not moral and compassionate people, so nothing had come of it.  Their harmless flirting had tempered and mellowed into companionable banter, which later deepened into an abiding loyalty.  Blaine and Kurt had fun together.  They made each other laugh, and could spend entire afternoons talking about absolutely nothing of substance, and the conversations always felt truly nourishing regardless.  And they could just as easily confess their deepest insecurities, spend entire evenings revealing hidden vulnerabilities, and learning the depths to which they truly could trust one another.    
  
And when Kurt's father had died...  
  
As horrible an event as it was, it was also the very thing that finally solidified the depth of their bond.  Kurt and Blaine were the forever kind of friends, and Blaine had barely left Kurt's side in the wake of Burt's death.  
  
It had driven a huge rift between Blaine and Dave, and even though he had never told Kurt, Blaine almost left Dave when he finally decreed that Blaine would have to choose either Kurt or himself.  
  
When Dave realized that Blaine really might choose Kurt, he had proposed.  And Blaine had accepted.  
  
Blaine wasn't an idiot.  He knew his marriage was fucked up.  He knew Dave was controlling.  But there were sides to Dave that people like Kurt never saw.  Like how he gathered Blaine in his arms and told him how beautiful he was.  Like how he had told Blaine that cuddling on the couch and watching  football with Blaine was his favorite thing in the world.  Like how Dave had actually stood up to Blaine's father on more than one occasion, had defended Blaine when he was too exhausted by the same old arguments to stand up for himself.    
  
Even if Dave did seem to agree with Blaine's father on a few choice issues.  
  
If neither Dave nor his father's opinion had meant so much to him, Blaine would be an actor by now.  Or at least a struggling wannabe actor.  It's not that he didn't enjoy his career as a freelance journalist and theater critic, but–  
  
But. He had never wanted to spend his life on the sidelines.  And the sidelines were exactly where he had ended up.  
  
Blaine sighed, and wondered – not for the first time – how, precisely, this had become his life.  
  
Kurt glanced over at him.  “You all right?”  
  
“Yeah.  Yes.  I just...I was just thinking.”  
  
“Anything profound?”  
  
Blaine laughed.  “Hardly.”  He paused.  “So...whose place is this again?”  
  
As they slowed to a halt at a stop sign, Kurt ducked his head to light a cigarette.  Before two full seconds had passed, the car behind them blared their horn.  
  
“Oh, I am so sorry I've inconvenienced you with a three-second delay!” Kurt snapped over his shoulder to a driver that had the windows rolled up and clearly couldn't hear him.  He turned back to face the road, and resumed driving.  “God, I will be so glad when we finally get out of the city.  New York drivers make me want to...well.  Maybe you should have waited a bit before giving me that gun.”  
  
Blaine laughed, and Kurt smirked at him fondly.  “To answer your question, though – you know Felicia, who handles publicity for the bar?”  
  
“Mm hmm.”  
  
“Well, she's getting divorced and her husband is getting this place.  So she's letting all her friends use it before she has to turn over the keys.”  
  
Blaine grinned.  “So the place might already be trashed by the time we get there, then.”  
  
Kurt laughed.  “God forbid.  Hopefully her more destructive friends will be taking their turn after us.”  
  
“I've never been out of the city without Dave before,” Blaine mused.  “I mean...not since I was a kid, anyway.”  
  
Kurt looked like he was choking back a million things that he wanted to say.  “How did you get him to agree to let you come? I wouldn't have expected him to,” he finally said.  
  
Blaine bit his lip and tried not to smile.  “That's because I...um...didn't ask him.”  
  
Kurt's eyes widened in shock.  “Blaine you...”  He barked out a sharp, unrestrained laugh.  “Oh, my – Blaine, he's going to kill you when he finds out!  I can't believe you finally...I mean, I can't believe you actually did that!”  Kurt was full-on laughing now, a quality of laughter that Blaine hadn't heard from him in a long time.  It seemed fueled less by mirth than by actual joy.  Blaine started laughing too, unable to resist joining in.  
  
“Well, he never would have let me come,” Blaine finally said seriously.  “He never lets me do a single fucking thing that's any fun.  All he wants me to do is sit around the apartment waiting for him to come home while he goes out and does god knows what.”  
  
“Well, you get what you settle for,” Kurt replied mildly, wincing slightly as soon as the words had left his mouth.  
  
Blaine studied Kurt's profile for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to be offended by the abrupt lapse in tact.  
  
Unable to summon any true anger,  Blaine's lips twitched into a smirk.  “I left him a note,” he finally said in a serious tone.  
  
Kurt absolutely shrieked with laughter, seeming barely able to keep his concentration on the road.  
  
“I left him stuff to microwave for dinner,” Blaine added, dissolving back into laughter as Kurt's grew ever more uproarious.    
  
They laughed until they were well into New Jersey.  
  


**~000~**

  
As they made their way through New Jersey and into Pennsylvania, the road became wider and more sparsely traveled.  Everything – from houses to businesses – seemed to sprawl, growing further and further apart.  The air was sweet and they sky was blue and Blaine sighed happily, smiling up at the clouds above them.  They [listened to music](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uK3MLlTL5Ko) – first [Blaine's](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kOnde5c7OG8) playlist and then [Kurt's](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kvTnX-KzmTY), though the two did have quite a bit of overlap – and pointed out interesting things to one another.  Blaine practically bounced out of his seat with excitement when he saw an Amish family in a covered wagon, and Kurt was lucky he was driving, because he was pretty sure Blaine would have attempted to pull over and talk to them if he had been at the wheel.  
  
As the sky began deepening, late-afternoon light bleeding into dusk, Blaine pulled down the visor in front of him, holding his middle and forefinger in a tight “v” and miming the act of smoking a cigarette, a look of cool indifference on his face.  
  
Kurt snorted.  “Blaine, what are you doing?”  
  
“Smoking,” Blaine replied.  Then, his voice in a higher register, he added: “Because I'm such a badass.”  
  
Kurt chuckled and rolled his eyes.  “Has anyone ever told you you're insane?”  
  
“Well, you.  Frequently,” Blaine answered, continuing to “smoke” in front of the mirror.    
  
Kurt shook his head fondly. “There is a reason for that,” he replied.    
  
“So when are you going to quit, anyway?” Blaine asked casually.  Kurt groaned.  
  
“Oh, god, not you too.  You're as bad as my f–” Kurt stopped himself, swallowed.  “As bad as Finn,” he amended, trying his best to sound lighthearted.    
  
“I just...Kurt, your dad...it was his heart,” Blaine said carefully.  
  
“I know.”  Kurt's voice was small; not defensive or irritated as Blaine had expected.  Just....small.  
  
“And...I mean, it's often genetic – heart issues – and smoking raises your likelihood of–”  
  
“I know, Blaine.”  And, ah.  There was the irritation.  
  
They were silent for a long moment.  “I'm sorry,” Blaine finally said with a sigh.  “I just...you're not going to be twenty-six forever, and I'm selfish.  I want to watch bad reality TV with you in a nursing home when we're in our 80s.  I want you to be around when I'm in my 80s.”  
  
Kurt took his right hand off the gear shift and gave Blaine's knee a small squeeze.  “I know,” he said again, but this time his tone was nothing but soft and fond.  Blaine smiled ruefully.  
  
Kurt pulled a fresh cigarette out of his pack and leaned into Blaine's personal space while keeping his eyes on the road.  “Got a light?” He asked, and Blaine laughed, pretending to light Kurt's cigarette with his imaginary one.  
  


**~000~**

  
The plains gave way to rolling hills, mountains visible as shadowy backdrops in the distance as the sun set.  Blaine stared at them.  
  
“Are those the Appalachian mountains?” Blaine asked.  Kurt nodded.  
  
“At some point we should encounter the Alleghenies, which are part of the Appalachians.  Maybe we have already, I don't really know.  All I know is that the cabin is in the Alleghenies, near some place called  Spruce Knob.  And there's supposed to be a river we can fish in.”  
  
“And swim in?”  
  
Kurt pursed his lips.  “It might be a bit cold for that...”  
  
Blaine waved away the protest.  “C'mon Hummel, it’s mid-September.  man up.  If you're making me fish, I'm making you swim.”  
  
Kurt rolled his eyes.  “Fine.  But if I freeze my dick off, you're paying to have it reattached.”  
  
Blaine grinned.  “Deal.”  
  
“So,” Kurt said, changing the subject, “are you hungry?  I have some granola bars and-”  
  
“Granola bars?  Come on, Kurt.  Let's stop for some real Southern food.”  
  
“We're in Pennsylvania, Blaine.”  
  
“Southern Pennsylvania, Kurt.”  
  
“Oh my god, how many times have you actually left the city in your life?”  
  
Blaine turned to Kurt to give him his most earnest puppydog eyes.  “That's exactly my point, Kurt.  I neverget to do stuff like this.  Can't we just stop for a little bit?  Please?”  
  
“We won't get to the cabin until close to midnight as it is,” Kurt protested, but Blaine could tell he was starting to yield.  
  
“Oh, come on.  There is no way granola bars are going to be enough, and I know you hate eating drive-through.  We have to get dinner somewhere, right?  And besides, we should probably stretch our legs.  I don't want you getting deep vein thrombosis or something – do you have any idea how guilty that would make me feel?”  
  
Kurt threw his hands up as he pulled to a stop at a lone traffic light guarding a quiet intersection.  They could hear the crickets chirping around them, the night as thick and dark as a heavy blanket.  “You live inNew York City, Blaine, and now that we're in a place where culture comes to die, you want to stop and mingle with the locals?  Really?” he demanded.  
  
But Blaine already had his iphone out, and was thumbing along the screen excitedly as Kurt continued to drive.  “Ooh!  It says there's a gay bar near here.  An honest-to-goodness country gay bar, Kurt, we have to!”  Blaine was practically bouncing in his seat.    
  
Kurt sighed. “Oh, all right,” he finally conceded.  “But if you're expecting a gay bar in rural Pennsylvania to be an enriching cultural experience, I have a feeling you're going to end up quite disappointed.”  
  
Blaine practically launched himself at Kurt, who yelped as the car swerved slightly from the surprise attack.  “Jesus Christ, Blaine,” he muttered.  But Blaine was barely paying attention.  
  
“Oh my god, Kurt, you are the best! This is going to be so fun. OK, you're going to want to take the exit for route 76 when you see it.”  
  
“I hope you realize that this is what you're getting from me instead of a birthday present,” Kurt mumbled, but followed Blaine's directions obediently.


	3. Chapter 3

**Saturday, 8:29p.m. - 11:02p.m.**

**Pennsylvania**

  
The country gay bar in question turned out to be a country gay club, which Kurt actually found even more depressing. The parking lot seemed far too large for the establishment itself, but there were a surprising number of cars in it anyway.  The club was nondescript and boxy, a windowless monstrosity of vinyl siding that had definitely seen better days.  It looked gray and gloomy in the moonlight, the sign identifying it as “The Silver Bullet” partially obscured by shadow.  
  
They had actually driven by it a couple of times before realizing what it was – the sign was not lit up, and the name of the club was printed in spindly black letters.  There was absolutely nothing attention-getting about it at all.  
  
Kurt decided that for a gay nightclub on the Pennsylvania-West Virginia border, that was probably a smart decision.  
  
A heavy baseline was audible as they pulled into the lot, and Blaine leapt out of the car before Kurt  could even properly put it into park.  
  
“Kurt, come on!” Blaine was fidgeting impatiently while Kurt put the top up.  
  
“Just a minute, Blaine.  It looks like it might rain.”  
  
Blaine sighed but waited, and as soon as Kurt joined him Blaine grabbed his hand and all but ran to the front door of the club.  
  
It was pretty much exactly what Kurt had imagined: [the techno](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PSYxT9GM0fQ) was almost as out-of-date as the garish attempts at fashion all around them, and what the sound system lacked in clarity it made up for with a volume that made Kurt wince.  Most of the patrons were men, but there were a few women sprinkled throughout the crowd as well, ranging from the butchest of the butch to I'm just here hanging out with my gay friends, but if a lesbian hits on me it will be the most exciting thing that's happened to me all year. There were several men that might have been hipsters if their outfits had been put together with even a shred of irony in mind, and several more that dressed as if still mourning the fact that the International Male catalog was no longer in circulation.  
  
There were a few reasonably well-dressed men as well, wearing simple but well-fitting outfits that showed a modicum of taste, if not imagination.  
  
Kurt couldn't help smiling to himself.  He hadn't had so much fun judging a group of strangers since...well.  He knew exactly how long it had been, actually.  
  
“I haven't seen a place like this since I left Ohio,” he observed, trying to ignore the flare of suppressed panic he felt at the admission.  
  
“Isn't it great?” Blaine enthused, so earnest and happy that Kurt felt his discomfort melt away.  
  
“What do you want to do first?” Kurt asked, gesturing around the room.  There was a cluster of little tables near the bar where people sat eating baskets of fries and chicken fingers alongside their brightly colored cocktails.  Two pool tables sat in a dimly lit corner, and a reasonably sized dance floor sprawled in front of a karaoke stage.  
  
“Well, maybe some drinks and food?  And then dancing? Just a little dancing,” Blaine hastened to add before Kurt could protest.  “Just one song.”  
  
“All right,” Kurt conceded.  “One song.”  
  
Kurt could feel several pairs of eyes on them as they made their way to an empty table, and while he didn't doubt that a fair number of stares were directed at him, he bristled at the undeniable fact that quite a few were fixed on Blaine.  Kurt felt a surge of protectiveness rise up in his chest, and he linked arms with Blaine without a second thought.    
  
They sat down and perused the menus, and Kurt wondered if he'd be sorry in an hour if he ordered the chicken fingers.  It was heavier than what he usually ate on the road, but he was reluctant to trust this particular establishment to supply him with  a decent salad.  Before long, a pretty blonde waitress approached them, looking friendly but tired.  
  
“Hello, gentlemen,” she said, her voice cool and placid.  “My name is Quinn and I'll be your waitress this evening.  Can I start you two off with anything to drink?”  
  
“Perrier with a twist of lemon, please,” Kurt said, sounding a bit stiff even to his own ears.  
  
“I'll have a wild turkey, straight up, and a coke back,” Blaine said casually before Quinn left to fill their orders.  
  
Kurt's eyebrows shot up.  “Blaine!”  
  
Blaine gave him a pointed look.  “What?  Is this my vacation, or isn't it?  God, Kurt, you're as bad as Dave!”  
  
“I...I'm sorry,” Kurt managed, utterly flustered at being compared to one of his least favorite people alive.  “I'm just not used to seeing you this way.  I haven't seen you this way in...well, probably since college.  These days you're usually so sedate.”  
  
“Well, I've had it up to my elbows with sedate,” Blaine said with a satisfied smirk.  “You said we were going to get out of town and just really let our hair down for once, so just look out, buddy, because my hair is coming down.”  
  
“Does that mean you might actually use less than five pounds of gel this weekend?” Kurt asked with an innocent smile.  
  
Blaine feigned a look of outrage, and swatted Kurt's shoulder playfully.  “Maybe.  Why not?  Dave's not here to complain about it looking to ethnic, is he?”  
  
Kurt bit his lip and forced himself not to comment, as physically painful as it was to refrain.  
  
Quinn returned with their drinks, and Kurt eyed his Perrier wistfully.  He glanced at the shot glass set in front of Blaine, and then met his eyes.  Blaine was beaming at him.  
  
“All right, Quinn,” Kurt said, “I've changed my mind.  I'm going to have a margarita, and a shot of Cuervo on the side.”    
  
Blaine smiled and downed his shot, wincing slightly.  “And I'll have another,” he said quickly as Quinn started to leave.  She and Kurt both laughed as Blaine took a long pull on his coke.  
  
While they waited for Quinn to return, they discussed their weekend some more.  There might be some food at the cabin, but they would have to go foraging for breakfast in the morning after they got there.  Blaine forced Kurt to admit that it was perhaps a good idea to save the granola bars he'd brought until later in the trip, since there probably wouldn't be anyplace open nearby when they arrived.  
  
Kurt was about to launch into a bout of preemptive complaining about the quality of food they would probably encounter when they got there, when a tall man with ridiculous hair sauntered up to their table and proceeded to sit down as if he had been invited.  And he didn't even sit properly.  He swung the chair around and straddled it backward and gave them what he probably thought was a devastating smile.    
  
Kurt hated him instantly.  
  
Blaine gave the man a look of polite confusion, which only caused the asshole to wink at Blaine, and caused Kurt to hate him even more.  “Well, now,” he said smoothly, “what are a couple of gorgeous city boys like yourselves doing in our humble little neck of the woods, hmm?”  
  
Kurt managed to control the venom in his voice when he answered “minding our own business,” but his words were drowned out by Blaine, whose verbal filter seemed to have abruptly and completely disintegrated into nothing.  
  
“Oh, well, we just wanted to get out of town for a few days because a friend of Kurt's has this cabin she said we can use, and Kurt just broke up with this guy he'd been seeing, and he figured it might be fun to....uh....” Blaine faltered in the face of Kurt's bitch glare of death.  “Um.  We, uh, just wanted to get something to eat.”  
  
“Well, then you've come to the right place,” the man said, making himself even more comfortable.  I know this place is a bit provincial, but they do serve an excellent steak salad.”  
  
“Sebastian, are you harassing these two gentlemen?” Quinn asked as she approached with Kurt's margarita and two shots.  
  
“Of  course not,” the man – Sebastian – said with an oily smile.  “You know me, Quinn, I was just being friendly.”  
  
Kurt didn't miss the iciness of Quinn's tone or the slight disgust in her eyes when she addressed Sebastian.  “Well, it's a good thing they're not all as friendly as you,” she said, and gave Kurt and Blaine pointed looks.  
  
Kurt rolled his eyes and nodded in agreement, lighting a cigarette.  He wasn't sure how he'd managed to find a place where smoking was still allowed – let alone legal – indoors, but he pulled the supplied ashtray closer and chose not to question it.  
  
Quinn took their orders (Kurt got the chicken fingers after all, and Blaine, much to Kurt's annoyance, ordered the steak salad) and when she left, she shot Kurt a sympathetic look.  
  
“Hey – your name is Sebastian?” Blaine (stupid sweet polite oblivious Blaine) asked.  “I have an uncle named Sebastian.”  
  
“Do you now?” Sebastian asked, leaning into Blaine's personal space in a way that made Kurt want to  punch him square in the face.  “Does he have a problem with breaking too many hearts?  Because if so, he and I have something in common.”  Sebastian fluttered his eyelashes with a cheeky grin.  
  
Sebastian laughed at his own idiotic comment, and Blaine joined in politely.  Kurt took a long drag off of his cigarette and feigned laughter nastily, blowing smoke directly into Sebastian's face.  
  
Kurt couldn't help but smirk when Sebastian winced at the onslaught of smoke, coughing slightly.  
  
“I don't mean to be rude,” Kurt said, which was an abject lie, “but I have something I need to talk to my friend about in private.”  
  
“I understand,” Sebastian said, attempting to assume a humble and apologetic tone..  “I didn't mean to bother you, it's just hard not to notice two such handsome and stylish men around here.  Men like you don't come in here every day, you know.”    
  
The insincerity was so thick it made Kurt want to retch, but Blaine was smiling shyly into his drink over the compliment.  As Sebastian stood up, he lightly stroked his hand along Blaine's shoulder.  He leaned in, so close he and Blaine were almost touching.  “You had better dance with me before you leave, tiger, or I willnever forgive you,” Sebastian very nearly purred.  
  
Blaine looked up at Sebastian through his lashes, and Kurt found himself desperately wishing that Blaine didn't look so fucking sweet and hot and gorgeous when he did that.  “Sure,” he said with  a genuine smile.  “That sounds like fun.”  
  
Sebastian winked at Blaine again as he sauntered away, and Kurt rolled his eyes and took a long drink from his margarita.  Blaine narrowed his eyes at him once Sebastian was far enough away not to hear them.  
  
“That was kind of rude, Kurt.”  
  
Kurt sighed irritably.  “Oh, for – Blaine, can't you tell when someone's hitting on you?”  
  
“Well, so what if he was?” Blaine defended.  “He's harmless.  Your years of bar tending have just made you jaded, that's all.”  
  
“Maybe,” Kurt conceded, eyeing Sebastian across the room.  “Or maybe they've made me especially perceptive.”  
  
Blaine rubbed his temples like he was fighting a headache.  “Look, Kurt, would you just relax? This is supposed to be fun”  
  
“Fine,” Kurt muttered, and lit another cigarette.  
  
He had a bad feeling about this place.  
  


**~000~**

  
Blaine wasn't sure when two shots had turned into five, or when one dance with Sebastian had turned into three.  All he knew was that he felt warm and fluid and free, and this attractive though admittedly kind of sleazy guy was paying the sort of attention to him that he hadn't gotten from his husband for the better part of a year.  
  
So Blaine let him dance a little too close.  After all, it was only dancing.  
  
He let Sebastian grind against him and chuckle hot against his ear because really, it was only flirting.  A little flirting never hurt anyone.  
  
He did feel a few pangs of guilt, but he waved them away because they were layered under drunken clouds of joy and comfort, and he knew he wouldn't actually do anything.  He wasn't the kind of guy that would cheat on his husband.  
  
Well.  Not with some dude he met in a bar, anyway.  Not with a stranger.  
  
Blaine glanced over to where Kurt sat at their table, smoking yet another cigarette and drinking Perrier.  He was looking around the room, his chin tilted upward and his face set in a superior, judgmental expression.  Blaine couldn't hold back a wide, ridiculous grin.  Kurt was the best person in the world.  
  
Kurt turned and caught Blaine's eye, tapping his wrist as if there were a watch there and giving Blaine a pointed look.  Blaine laughed and rolled his eyes.  All of Kurt's expressions were just so Kurt.  He could watch Kurt make expressions all night long.  
  
Sebastian spun him around, maneuvering him so that his back was to Kurt.  The room was getting slightly spinny, but [the music](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D4-PcMSxrUA) was awesome and the lights were pretty and Blaine hadn't danced like this in years. He'd forgotten how much he enjoyed it.  The club had really filled up since he and Kurt had arrived there, and he loved being one of a sea of hot, sweaty bodies, united by their love of music and movement.  
  
He couldn't tell if it was a minute or an hour later, but suddenly Kurt was beside him and he was saying something.  
  
“What?” Blaine yelled over the music.  
  
“I said,” Kurt repeated, raising his voice to be heard, “that I think you've had enough fun for one night.  I'm going to use the restroom and pay our tab, and then we are out of here, got it?”  
  
“You got it!” Blaine yelled back with enthusiasm.  As he watched Kurt walk away, a strange, sudden burst of sadness hit him square in the heart.  “Wait, Kurt,” he called.  “I'll come with you!”  
  
Kurt was too far away to hear him at that point, and before Blaine could follow him, Sebastian tugged him back and spun him around.  “Where do you think you're going?” he asked with a playful laugh.    
He spun Blaine again and again and again, and suddenly things were decidedly less fabulous.  Suddenly everything was spinning fast and violent and Blaine could barely breathe and he was too hot and he was pretty sure he was going to be sick.  
  
“Wait.  Wait.  I....” Blaine stumbled to a stop, putting a hand on Sebastian's shoulder for support.  “I don't feel so good.”  
  
“Let's get you some air, OK?” Sebastian asked, tightening an arm around Blaine.  His voice was concerned but there was something else underneath it too.  Something Blaine was far too sick and dizzy to think about.  
  
Blaine closed his eyes, taking slow, deliberate breaths.  “OK.  But Kurt-”  
  
“Don't worry about Kurt,” Sebastian assured him.  We'll find him later.  Come on, OK?”  
  
That didn't really sound exactly right, but Sebastian sounded pretty sure of himself and Blaine wasn't feeling particularly sure of anything.  
  
“OK,” Blaine mumbled, allowing Sebastian to maneuver him through the packed club and into the parking lot.


	4. Chapter 4

Please Note: This chapter contains **explicit non-con**. If you would like to read a non-explicit summary of chapter 4 instead of the chapter itself, you can do so .  [ **HERE**](http://chazzamba.livejournal.com/16051.html).

 

**Saturday, 11:02p.m. - 11:23p.m.**

**Pennsylvania**

 Kurt was used to packed clubs in New York, but that didn't make it any less irritating when he had to wait for one of three couples to finish having sex in the stalls before he could use the toilet.  There were no urinals – this being an occasion in which Kurt may have actually been desperate enough to use one – and the mirrors were a warped, dingy, reflective kind of metal instead of glass, so he couldn't even fix his hair properly while he waited.

  
Kurt really didn't like this club.

After Kurt had washed his hands and wiped them dry on his jeans because there were no paper towels, he went back to his table to pay the check.  Kurt's wallet was thick with nearly a week's worth of tips, and though he knew that even the most backwater town in West Virginia would surely have debit card machines, he still clung to little bits of advice from his father like they were precious gems.  Like they kept him tethered to Kurt somehow.  And one of Burt's favorite pieces of advice was never to travel without plenty of cash.

As Quinn bustled past, menus in hand, Kurt held out the check along with some crisp bills from his billfold.  

“Thanks,” she said.  “You need change?”

Kurt shook his head.  “I'm all set, thanks.  Hey, have you seen my friend?”

“Your friend?” Quinn asked distractedly as a nearby table of very drunk men yelled for her to bring them another pitcher of beer. “Um...yeah.  He was...Oh!  Yes – he's out there dancing.”

Kurt noded and looked at the packed dance floor with a sigh.  He normally found Blaine's height endearing and kind of adorable, but it certainly didn't help Kurt find him in a crowd.

 

 **~000~**

  
Blaine rinsed his mouth out with water, still feeling a bit dizzy but undeniably better after emptying his stomach of his entire dinner and all five shots of Wild Turkey.  He stood up shakily, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.  He felt a warm hand rubbing circles on his back, and almost leaned into it before remembering that it wasn't Kurt.  Sebastian smiled when Blaine opened his eyes, and held out a box of breath mints.  Blaine returned his smile gratefully.

“Thank you,” Blaine said, taking a mint.

“You feeling better now?” Sebastian asked him, as they resumed walking.  

The cool air felt fantastic on Blaine's sweaty, clammy skin.  “I think I'm starting to feel a little better,” he answered truthfully.

Before Blaine could properly process what was happening, Sebastian had spun him around and pressed him up against the side of a car.  “You feel pretty good to me, too.  You know that?” Sebastian whispered into Blaine's ear, his voice rough.

Blaine felt his heartbeat quicken slightly, and he slipped out of Sebastian's grip as gracefully as he could manage.  “I think I need to keep walking,” he said firmly, making a beeline for the club.

“Hey – where do you think you're going?” Sebastian asked, sounding downright offended as Blaine walked away from him.

“I'm going back inside to find K-” Blaine let out a startled laugh as Sebastian pulled him back and  hoisted him up, so that Blaine ended up sitting on the hood of a car. “Sebastian!”

Blaine was trying to keep his tone light, but he couldn't deny how hard his heart was pounding now, couldn’t ignore the sick twist in his gut that had absolutely nothing to do with the copious amounts of bourbon he'd consumed.

Sebastian began running his hands up Blaine's thighs, his expression nothing less than predatory.  Blaine swallowed.

“Hey, come on.  Stop that.”

“You're so hot, Blaine,” Sebastian all but hissed, holding him firmly in place as he stood between Blaine's legs.  His face was so close to Blaine's now, his breath smelling of sour beer.  Blaine felt like he might retch again.  “I just want to kiss you,” Sebastian murmured, moving in even closer.  “It's OK if I kiss you, right?”

Blaine shook his head.  “No, Sebastian I can't, I – look, I'm married, I can't just–”

Sebastian squeezed Blaine's thighs.  “Shh,” he soothed, as if trying to rein in a skittish animal.  “It's OK.  I'm married too.”

Blaine opened his mouth to reply, but before he could form a single word, Sebastian's beer-sour tongue was pushing into his mouth, Sebastian's lips pressed hard against Blaine's own.  

Blaine was frozen in panic.

“Damn, you're fucking gorgeous”, Sebastian growled, pulling away.  He squeezed Blaine's hips before moving in again.

Finally regaining the power of movement, Blaine dodged Sebastian’s lips and tried to stand up.  But Sebastian was strong and his grip was fierce.  

“Come on,” Blaine pleaded.   “Just...just let me go.  You got your kiss, I don't know what else you want.”

Sebastian actually laughed at that, and it was the most cold, horrifying sound that Blaine had ever heard.  “Oh, don't you?” he asked, his eyes dark and feral as he pressed his crotch against Blaine's.

“Get the fuck off of me!” Blaine screamed, his voice ringing out into the night around them, muffled around the edges by the [loud music](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yKNs4W4qNL0) emanating from the club.

It didn't matter.  There was no one there to hear him.

“God, you're sticking with the little cocktease schoolboy act, aren't you?” Sebastian muttered, his hands and mouth everywhere as if they belonged there, as if he were entitled–

“It's not an act, goddamn it, please!”  Blaine managed to twist the top half of his body away and was on the brink of pulling his legs free when he felt crushing hands around his waist, throwing him backward, slamming him down onto the car.  

“Stay still, damn it!” Sebastian roared, slapping Blaine across the face and grabbing his wrists.  Stunned, Blaine stared up at him, the true gravity of the situation hitting him all at once.

“No,” Blaine said, his voice high and panicked.  “I'm saying no, Sebastian, do you hear me?”

“It's a little late for that, don't you think?” Sebastian replied irritably, grinding against Blaine hard.

“K-Kurt will be looking for me!” Blaine pleaded desperately, tears of fear and pain prickling at his eyes.  

“Fuck that little faggot,” Sebastian snarled, fighting to keep hold of Blaine's wrists.  Blaine finally wrenched an arm free, hauling back and punching Sebastian with everything he had.  Sebastian managed to turn at the last moment, but the blow landed on his upper arm, making Sebastian hiss in pain.

He stared down at Blaine, and his face was like nothing Blaine had ever seen before.  It was pure, blind, animalistic rage.

“Don't you ever fucking hit me,” Sebastian snarled, slapping Blaine across the face so hard his head snapped to the side.  He pinned Blaine's wrists against the hood of the car with one hand, and punched him so hard Blaine was pretty sure he might pass out.  Too dazed to do much but feel the pain blooming across his flesh and the blood trickling from his nose, Blaine could barely manage to try and get away when Sebastian freed his wrists, pulling Blaine down the hood of the car and flipping him over.  Blaine's feet were weak and unsteady on the ground, but the entire weight of Sebastian's body was pinning him in place.  Sebastian grabbed a handful of Blaine's hair and wrenched his head back hard.  “Nobody fucking hits me,” he grated.

Blaine didn't even try to suppress his sobs anymore, not when Sebastian ran his hands all over him, not when Sebastian wrestled Blaine's jeans and underwear down to his knees, not when Sebastian  ran his hands all over Blaine's most private areas.  He didn't stop struggling, however perfunctory an effort it seemed, because he couldn't.  He wouldn't.  If he could control one thing in this situation, it was that.  He wouldn't let Sebastian take his fight away.

He screamed until Sebastian's sweaty hand was sealed over his mouth, and he kept screaming, no matter how muffled it might be.  He wanted to beg Sebastian to at least use a condom, to at least spare him that kind of danger, but he couldn't get the words out around Sebastian's meaty palm.  He could barely even breathe.

It was the worst thing that had ever happened to Blaine in his entire life.

He saw Sebastian sucking on two fingers, felt them breach him roughly, the pain unlike anything he'd ever felt before; he couldn't relax, and Sebastian definitely wasn't going to give him any time to adjust.

Blaine sobbed and sobbed and struggled and fought and prayed to a god he wasn't sure he'd ever believed in that this was all just some hideous nightmare.

At the sound of Sebastian's belt being loosened, Blaine started to feel the fight drain out of him.  He wasn't going to be able to stop this.  

There was nothing he could do, and no one was going to help him.

“I'm gonna make you feel so good, you'll see,” Sebastian whispered, nudging Blaine's legs open wider.

“Let him go.” The voice was firm and clear and unmistakable.

Blaine felt like his heart had stopped.  He was sure it must be a hallucination.  Because the mere idea that anything could stop this was terrifying to consider. Because if it wasn't true, and he let himself believe that it was...  

Blaine turned his head as much as he was able with Sebastian's hand still firmly over his mouth, and Kurt was there.  His face was drained of color and his eyes were wide with horror and he was there.

Sebastian glanced over his shoulder at Kurt.  “Fuck off,” he muttered dismissively, before returning his attention to Blaine.

Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the painful intrusion.

It didn't come.  Instead there was a metallic click, followed by Kurt's voice.  Kurt's voice that was now so very, very close.

“You get the fuck off of him right this minute or I'm going to splatter your ugly meerkat face all over this beautifully maintained car,” Kurt said, his voice cold and calm and only shaking slightly.  

Sebastian froze.

And suddenly his weight was gone and Blaine was free.

He turned to see Kurt, Dave's gun pressed firmly into the side of Sebastian's neck, a look of white-hot rage on Kurt's face.  Sebastian backed away from Blaine slowly.

“Blaine?” Kurt asked, the softness in his voice making Blaine whimper through his tears.  He was shaking so hard he didn't know how he was able to stand up, let alone walk, but he managed to pull his pants up and stumble behind Kurt, sobbing uncontrollably.  Together, they moved carefully away from Sebastian, who stood with his back to them, arms raised as if in surrender.

Sebastian sighed. “Okay, okay.  No need to make this into some sort of big drama," he said, patient and condescending. "We were just having a little fun, that's all.”  

Kurt took a deep breath, and now that he was right next to him, Blaine could tell he wasn't as calm as he had first appeared.  “Looks like you have a real fucked up idea of fun,” he spat, his voice high and cracking slightly.

Blaine wrapped his arms around himself, wanting nothing more in the world than to be away from this parking lot, away from Sebastian, away from this stupid club, just away from everything that wasn't warmth and safety and Kurt and a quiet place to cry.

“Come on, Kurt,” Blaine managed, his voice soft and shaky.  “Let's just – let's just–”

Kurt began backing up, but kept the gun trained on Sebastian.

“Turn around,” Kurt said, his voice hard.

Sebastian turned around, his hands still up, looking irritated and even more bored than he had before.

“In the future, when a guy is crying like that?  He isn't having any fucking fun,” Kurt said, ending on a near-growl, his voice shaking with unshed tears.

Kurt and Sebastian stared at one another for a long moment, and Blaine felt himself moving instinctively closer to Kurt, his eyes on the ground.  If he so much as looked at Sebastian he knew he would break into a thousand pieces.

“Please Kurt,” Blaine whispered.  “Please, I just want to leave, I can't be here anymore, I–”  

Kurt turned to Blaine, his face softening, tears beginning to escape his eyes.

“Of course,” he said softly, reaching out tentatively to touch Blaine.  Blaine leaned into Kurt's warmth, allowing Kurt to wrap an arm around his shoulders.  Kurt slowly lowered the gun as they turned and headed toward the Camaro, leaving Sebastian behind them.

“Sanctimonious bitch.”  

Sebastian nearly spat the words, causing Kurt to stiffen and pause mid-stride.  “I should have gone ahead and fucked him.”

And suddenly the warmth of Kurt's body was gone from Blaine's side.  He whirled around, staring at Sebastian with blazing, incredulous eyes.

“What did you say?”

Sebastian smirked at Kurt, as if the sight of him holding a gun was adorable at best and ridiculous at worst.

“I said,” Sebastian enunciated slowly, “Suck. My. Cock.”

Kurt didn't pause, his arms moving as if by their own volition, his finger pressing firm and smooth against the trigger.

The bullet tore into Sebastian's chest, hitting him directly in the heart.  He didn't even have enough time to properly look shocked, a permanent smirk etched into his face as his eyes went dull and lifeless, his body flying backward and landing sprawled across the hood of the car behind him.

For one hideous, glorious moment, both Blaine and Kurt simply stared at him in shock.

Kurt lowered his hands shakily, his eyes as wide as saucers.

“Oh my god,” Blaine whispered.  “Kurt...you...you shot him.  Oh my god, oh my god, he's dead, you–”

Kurt's eyes didn't leave Sebastian's body.  “Blaine,” he said, his voice terrifyingly calm, “get the car.”

Blaine was shaking, unable to fully process any part of what had happened in the parking lot since he'd left the club.  All he knew was that things were bad.

Things were fucking horrible.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my g-” Blaine babbled, barely aware that he was speaking at all.

Kurt held his keys out to Blaine.  “Blaine, get the car.  Please.”  He turned to Blaine, and beneath the eerie calm Blaine could sense a hint of desperation in Kurt's eyes.

Blaine took the keys with shaking fingers, and ran to find the car. **  
**


	5. Chapter 5

  
**Sunday, 12:39 a.m. - 9:56a.m.**   
**Maryland, West Virginia**   


  
Kurt stared at the body on the hood of the car.  The body that, just seconds earlier, had been a man.

He slowly approached Sebastian's body.   His arms were splayed and his eyes were wide and unseeing.

Because Kurt had taken a human life.  

God, if Sebastian had just walked away–

If Kurt had just walked away.

Kurt leaned in close, remembering what Sebastian had been doing to Blaine.  Remembering how hard Blaine had been crying.  Remembering his beautiful face, bruised and bloody and contorted in suffering.

I should have gone ahead and fucked him.

Kurt stared down at the body on the car.  “You watch your mouth, buddy,” he whispered.

A moment later, Kurt's car came swinging wildly around the corner, tires screeching.  Blaine leaned out the driver's-side window.

“Kurt!  Come on!”

Kurt blinked down at Sebastian one last time, before turning and walking toward the Camaro, leaving the body that had so recently been a man lying splayed across the hood of a stranger's car.

Kurt hardly even registered how recklessly Blaine was driving or the fact that neither one of them had bothered to turn off [the radio](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SFsHSHE-iJQ) as he sat, staring down at the warm gun in his lap.  He heard the blare of horns as Blaine tore out of the parking lot, choosing a random direction which somehow lead them back to the highway, swerving in and out of the traffic around them that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

Kurt just stared down at the gun in his lap.

Once they seemed to have settled into traffic, Blaine broke through his sobs in an attempt to speak.  “Kurt.....” he tried weakly.

Kurt barely heard him.  He couldn't stop staring at the gun.

“Kurt!” Blaine repeated, his voiced edged with hysteria. “Wh-where are we going?”

Kurt closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  He needed to pull it together.  He needed to be strong for Blaine, because after what happened, he couldn't expect Blaine to-

He bit his lip.  He knew what he wanted to do.  His first and only instinct was to pick up the phone and immediately call his father.  Burt would know what to do, Burt had always known what do do.

But Kurt wasn't his father.  And all he knew was that he was in way over his head.

“Kurt?” Blaine asked again, panic rising in his voice.  “What are we going to do?  Where should I-”

“I don't know,” Kurt interrupted softly, eyes still closed.  “Just...Just be quiet so I can think.”

Blaine was silent, save for his gasping, sob-laced breaths, and Kurt found that it didn't help him think at all.

“Don't you think we should...I mean, I really think we should tell the police,” Blaine finally ventured after several moments.

“Tell them what, Blaine?” Kurt asked tightly, his chest clenching at the prospect.

“Just...I don't know, the truth.”

Kurt swallowed, opening his eyes and looking over at Blaine.  He flinched at the state of Blaine's bruised and blood-crusted face.  “Which part do you think we should tell them?” Kurt asked, trying to tamp down his growing frustration, trying not to snap.  Blaine looked like he was about to completely fall apart.

“Just...just all of it.  That...that...he was raping me, and...and...” Blaine trailed off, biting his lip against a fresh round of tears.

“And what, Blaine?” Kurt asked, trying very hard to keep his voice steady.   “You left the city with a gay man who wasn't your husband, and probably a hundred people saw you grinding on the dance floor all night with yet another man.  You know what people think of men like us, Blaine, Who's going to believe us?  Who's going to believe that in Western Pennsylvania?  God, even in New York no one would believe that.  We just don't live in that kind of a world, Blaine!”  

Despite Kurt's best efforts, his voice had steadily risen until he was almost yelling, Blaine's face falling more and more with every word.  Blaine bursts into fresh tears at the end of it, and Kurt couldn't stand it.  He couldn't stand any of it, and now he had made Blaine cry like that, and he had to be the strong one again, he always had to be the fucking strong one, and just once – just once – he wanted to fall apart like that too.

But he couldn't.  Because the last time he had let himself fall apart...

Unbidden, the very memory Kurt had been trying so hard not to summon burst to the forefront of his mind, and he felt entirely sick.

“Oh, god, pull over,” he managed, making it out just in time as Blaine pulled the car to a halt on the side of the road.  Kurt flung the door open and stumbled onto the asphalt, cool, steady rain slowly soaking him through as he vomited over the guardrail.

Once he had nothing more to expel, Kurt remained hunched, hands on his knees, breathing deeply.

He couldn't fall apart.  He didn't have that luxury.

Standing up, Kurt took a deep breath and summoned every bit of strength he had.  

He could do this.  He had to do this.  If not for himself, then for Blaine.

When Kurt returned to the car, Blaine had climbed into the passenger seat.  The visor was down and Blaine was looking into the mirror, attempting to straighten his gelled hair back into submission with shaking hands.  He was clearly fighting not to cry anymore, but had instead fallen into steady, quiet whimpering, which managed to be even more heartbreaking than the gut-wrenching sobs he had emitted in the parking lot.

Kurt swallowed.  He could do this.

“Blaine?” he asked as quietly and gently as he possibly could.

Blaine continued to try and fix his hair, tears sliding down his face.  After a moment, he turned to look at Kurt nervously, as if almost afraid of him.   Kurt felt a sharp jolt of pain go through him at the sight.  

Kurt spoke as gently as possible, his voice shaking with the desire to sound like he was in control of the situation.  Like he didn't even have to try to be strong in the face of this. “Blaine, I'm going to take us somewhere to get a cup of coffee – just – just for a minute, and then I'm going to get myself together, and then we'll figure out what to do.”  

Kurt reached into his messenger bag and pulled out his water bottle, unwinding the silk scarf from around his own neck.  He wet the scarf with water from the bottle, and gently held it up to Blaine's face, wiping the dried blood from Blaine's nose with light, gentle strokes.  

“And everything's going to be fine, all right?” Kurt continued.  Blaine hissed softly at the sensation of the scarf on his broken and bruised skin, but remained as still as possible so that Kurt could continue cleaning him.  “It just...do you believe me?”

Blaine stared at Kurt, his eyes enormous and terrified and wounded and full of trust.  “Yes,” he whispered.

  
**~000~**   


  
They pulled over at the first diner they saw after getting off the highway and crossing into Maryland.  The table was greasy and the walls were yellowed and cracked.  

Blaine barely noticed.

Kurt was fumbling with a wrinkled map he had pulled out of the trunk of his car, pausing every so often to take a sip of coffee or fiddle with his unlit cigarette and frown at the no-smoking sign over the door.  He was speaking rapid-fire, his voice laced with false bravado.

“The important thing now is not to panic.  If we panic, we're finished.  Nobody saw it...nobody knows it's us.  So we're OK.  We're fine.  We're great.  We just need to figure out what we're going to do next.  We just need to...to figure out what we're going to do.”

Kurt paused nervously, moving as if to take a drag on his cigarette before putting it down and picking up his coffee instead.  Blaine stared at the rain-splattered window, and thought about how the weekend was supposed to go.

“Well, let me just say, this sure is a fabulous vacation,” Blaine said weakly, barely even registering that he was speaking out loud.  He began to laugh.  Kurt eyed him uneasily from across the booth.  “I sure am having a fun t-time...”

Somewhere along the way, Blaine's laughter grew slightly hysterical, fresh tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

Kurt stared at him.  Something dark seemed to flutter across his face.

“Well,” Kurt responded through gritted teeth, “if you weren't so concerned with having fun, I-”

Blaine felt like he had been slapped.  Kurt stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes going wide.

“Oh, god, Blaine, no, I didn't mean-”

Blaine suddenly felt he was drowning in an abandoned ocean, like the one shred of safety offered to him in all the world had been ripped away.  Barely holding himself together by the thinnest thread, he rose to his feet, pulling his hand back quickly when Kurt reached to take it.

“I...excuse me.  I need to use the restroom,” Blaine said, his voice unsteady even to his own ears..

“Blaine...” Kurt pleaded quietly.

Blaine couldn't do more than bite his lip and shake his head, quickly making a bee-line for the one-person restroom at the far end of the diner car.  Once inside, he managed to get the door locked behind him on his third attempt.

Blaine took a deep breath, lowering the lid onto the toilet seat without even bothering to buffer the contact with a paper towel.  He sat down and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

The wallpaper on his iphone had been a picture of Kurt and himself at Songbirds, but it had caused a horrible fight when Dave caught sight of it.  Now the picture was of Dave and Blaine, beaming at each other in their matching tuxedos on their wedding day.  Blaine smoothed his thumb over the image, wondering why it didn't give him comfort.

Swallowing heavily, Blaine unlocked his phone and dialed.

It rang.  And rang.  And rang.  When he got Dave's voicemail he called again.  And then again.  He double-checked the time.  It was 2 a.m.  Where could Dave possibly be at 2 a.m.?

He called again.

When Dave's voicemail picked up again, Blaine didn't disconnect the call.  Instead he opened his mouth to speak, but found he had nothing to say.  “Dave,” he finally managed,  “I – I'm sorry, I–”

Shaking his head, Blaine ended the call, allowing his phone to drop to the floor with a sharp thud.  He had a very good idea where Dave was, no matter how hard he tried to deny it to himself.  He knew Dave wasn't faithful, probably hadn't been faithful for a long time.  Probably hadn't loved Blaine for a long time either.  If he ever had at all.

Dave hated him and Kurt blamed him and it suddenly occurred to Blaine that he didn't have anything.  That he wasn't even worth anything.

He sank to the floor and curled into a ball and wept.

Blaine allowed himself to let go completely, his entire body shaking with deep, wracking sobs.  He could still feel the echo of Sebastian's hands all over his body, could still recall, with startling clarity, how it felt to be utterly trapped and helpless and under someone else's control.  Like he wasn't even a person anymore.  Like he didn't matter at all.

It wasn't more than a few moments before he heard the soft knock at the door, followed by Kurt's voice.

“Blaine?”  The voice was cautious, almost nervous.  “Blaine, I'm sorry, can you just – can you open the door, please, Blaine?”

Blaine rose to his feet slowly.  So slowly, that by the time he was upright, Kurt was already calling his name again.  Blaine walked the few steps to the bathroom door and opened it, his eyes meeting Kurt's almost instantly.

Kurt's face crumpled into an expression of pure devastation when he looked at Blaine.

“Oh, Blaine,” he choked, and the look on his face was unmistakable.  It was a look of compassion and tenderness and love.  It was a look that said Blaine wasn't alone.  It was a look that said Blaine mattered.

Kurt slipped into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.  He immediately took Blaine into his arms, holding him tight and allowing Blaine to sob into the fabric of Kurt's shirt.

“It's going to be okay,” Kurt promised as he rocked Blaine gently.  “No matter what happens, I'm going to make sure you're okay.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Sunday, 12:39 a.m. - 9:56a.m.**

**Maryland, West Virginia**

 

Detective Santana Lopez was not particularly excited to be called to an investigation in her piss-poor backwater of a hometown.  She had worked hard to get the hell out of there.  She had worked hard to get the hell out of Pennsylvania, and she had.    
  
For a while, anyway.  
  
Santana reminded herself for the five hundredth time that she should be grateful.  After the mess with the Bureau, at least she had managed to twist what little nepotism was still available to her into a job in law enforcement.  At least she wasn't stuck working at a drive-through.  Or worse, a small town police force.  
  
And at least she still got to do real work.  At least some of the time.  
  
She glanced back to where the victim was being zipped up tight for transport to the coroner's lab.  Her first thought had been hate crime – she knew exactly what kind of town the gay community of southwestern Pennsylvania had to deal with in order to get their drink on – but something in her gut had told her differently.  And that was before she saw that the man with a bullet in his chest was one Sebastian Smythe.  
  
Santana always trusted her gut.  Almost as intensely as he had always distrusted Sebastian Smythe.  
  
Mr. All-American Closet Case seemed to have finally gone just a little too far.  All Santana had to do now was figure out what he had done to deserve it.  
  
Santana straightened her blazer turned her attention back to Quinn Fabray, who stood smoking a cigarette and surveying the scene as if it were a mildly interesting television show.    
  
She'd barely changed a bit since high school.  
  
“Could you identify either of them if you saw them again?” Santana asked briskly, notepad in hand.  
  
Quinn gave her a measured look.  “For the tenth time, San, of course I could identify them.  But it would be pointless, because neither one of those little care bears is the murdering type.  One of them was even wearing a bow tie.”  
  
“And this is your expert opinion, Miss Fabray?  As a – I'm sorry, what credentials does serving watered-down cocktails to men in second-hand bridesmaid's dresses lend you again?”  
  
“Oh, cut the Miss Fabray crap, Santana, we were in cheerleading together.  You helped me cover up my baby bump when I was seventeen.  I'd like to think we're at least on a first name basis by now.  And to answer your question, I'm an expert on human nature.”  She narrowed her eyes, as if daring Santana to refute it.  “If waiting tables and tending bar for ten years doesn't make someone an expert at that, nothing will.”  
  
Quinn took a final drag off of her cigarette, dropping it to the ground and stamping it out neatly with her heel.  She glanced away for a moment before looking back and meeting Santana's eye.  
  
“Look, San.  To be honest, I could have told you Sebastian Smythe was going to meet his maker in a gay nightclub parking lot.  I'm just surprised it didn't happen sooner than this.”  
  
Santana couldn't help but quirk her lips into a small smile.  “Alright, then, Ms. 'Expert on human behavior,' who do you think did it?” She asked.  
  
“Has anyone asked his wife?” Quinn replied pointedly  “She's the one I hope did it.”  
  
Santana raised an eyebrow.  “Sugar?  Really?  You think she'd be capable of something like this?”  
  
“You think she wouldn't be?”  
  
Santana smiled, but didn't respond.  They would question Sugar Smythe – of course they would, it was standard protocol – but Sugar didn't do it.  Santana would bet her best pair of Jimmy Choos on that.  
  
“But it could have been anyone,” Quinn continued. “You know as well as I do how many people he laid off when he took the mill over from his dad, not to mention all the boys he had on the side.  There's no telling how many lives he ruined in his day.  Looks to me like somebody just got even.”  
  
Santana sighed, privately agreeing.  She really hoped they could nail down a reasonable lead on the two strangers Sebastian had last been seen with at the club, because if not, it was going to end up being a very complicated investigation.  “Fine then. Since you seem determined to make this into some sort of conspiracy theory, let's just switch focus.  Did you see what kind of car they were driving?”  
  
Quinn rolled her eyes.  “It's a nightclub, Santana, not a drive-in.  But trust me – it wasn't either of those two.  The taller one – the one with the perfect hair?  He left me a huge tip.”  
  
“Because, of course, it's a well-documented fact that big tippers never commit first degree murder.  Guess we can just close the case on this one, huh?” Santana replied crisply, flipping her notebook closed.  
  
Quinn shook her head.  “Those two are good boys, Santana.  Neither one of them is the murdering type.  In my expert opinion.”  
  
“Duly noted,” Santana returned, before heading toward her own car to mull over what she'd learned so far.  
  


**~000~**

  
Kurt was pacing, pulling items out of his suitcase as he muttered under his breath.  The calm and closeness they had reached in the diner had long since given way to the stark reality of their situation.  And in the harsh light of day (or, rather, the harsh fluorescent lights of the motel room they found themselves in), things were beginning to look even worse.  
  
“Okay, so we – between what we took out and the cash we already had, we have a little over $2700.  Thank god  I didn't deposit my tips before we left.  That's not – I mean, it will keep us on the road for a little while, but we still need to figure out-”  
  
“Kurt?” Blaine interrupted.  “Why – why are you unpacking?  I thought we were just stopping for a few hours.”  
  
The motel room was cheap and small and smelled of stale smoke, and the glare of a street lamp jutted in through the cracks in the plastic blinds.  Blaine looked up at Kurt from where he sat on the twin bed nearest the window.  
  
Kurt looked at him. “I...I'm just trying to figure out what to do,” he said, moving to the dresser and tucking jeans into one of the drawers neatly.  
  
Blaine stared at him incredulously for a moment.  He wasn't sure if he was delirious with sleep-deprivation or if Kurt was, but nothing about Kurt's behavior was quite making sense.  
  
“Well, when you figure it out, wake me up,” Blaine said with a sigh, laying back on the bed and closing his eyes.  
  
The sounds of Kurt's rapid movements came to an abrupt halt.  
  
“What is going on with you, Blaine?” he demanded, his voice unnaturally high.  
  
Blaine opened his eyes and stared at Kurt in confusion.  
  
“What is that supposed to mean?” Blaine groaned, rubbing his temples.  He really wished Kurt would just stop already.  Just stop moving and stop talking and stop planning and just stop.  Just for a little while.  Just long enough to take a fucking nap, which was the whole reason they had bothered stopping in the first place.  
  
“I mean, why are you acting like this?” Kurt demanded.  
  
“Acting like...wh...I'm sorry, but how the hell am I supposed to act, Kurt? I'm sorry for not knowing the customary way to behave after watching one's best friend blow someone away!”  
  
“You could help me figure out what to do instead of lying there passively and just-”  
  
But Blaine didn't let him continue, because that was it.  That was fucking it.  Blaine barked a sharp laugh and sat up, shaking his head as he rose to his feet.  
  
“I had a suggestion, Kurt,” he snapped, “a pretty active fucking suggestion.  I suggested that we go to the police.  But you didn't like that suggestion, so now I am frankly out of ideas.”  
  
Feeling infected by Kurt's thrumming agitation, Blaine began to pace.  Kurt narrowed his eyes at him.  
  
“Well, what's the hurry, Blaine?” he asked, his tone icy.  “If we give them enough time, they'll just come to us.”  
  
Blaine swallowed but continued pacing.  Kurt was right.  Kurt was right, and they were utterly and completely fucked.  
  
He swore under his breath as the tears started back up, enraged at himself for falling apart again, for being the weak one.  
  
He was always the fucking weak one.  
  
Blaine looked up when he felt a soft touch to his shoulder.  Kurt had stopped moving, and was staring at him, his anger utterly and completely dissolved into something much worse.  All Blaine could see etched into his face was guilt and pain and sorrow.  
  
Because Blaine had made him feel that way.  
  
“Blaine, I'm so sorry, I keep – I'm not trying to – god, you're just – you're not OK, and I don't know what to do, and I love you so much, you're my best friend, and what he – what he did-”  Kurt's breath hitched.  “I'm just – I'm so sorry, Blaine.”  
  
Blaine was too tired to respond, too drained to talk about the extent to which he really and truly was not the least little bit OK.  Instead, he just wrapped his arms around Kurt's waist, both men melting into a hug at the same time.  Blaine wondered how long they would keep defaulting to this – anger and tears and remorse and embraces – how long they would be able to hold themselves together in the nightmare that had become their lives.  He burrowed into Kurt, into the spicy scent of him and his lean chest and strong arms.  Dave was much bigger than Kurt, but Kurt was the one that always made Blaine feel protected.  He could feel some of the tension draining out of him, just from being held in Kurt's arms.  
  
“Blaine?” Kurt ventured.  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“I just...I...do you really want to go to the police?  If you...if you really want to-”  
  
Blaine shook his head, but remained silent.  He rubbed Kurt's arm gently.  
  
“I don't want to go to jail, Blaine,” Kurt admitted, sounding genuinely scared for the first time since leaving The Silver Bullet.  
  
“Neither do I,” Blaine murmured.  He paused for a moment, thinking about what that meant.  Thinking about the options they actually had.  “I think ...I think I'm going to take a shower,” Blaine finally decided.  “And we can both take some time to think.”  
  
Kurt smiled weakly as they pulled away from one another.  “OK,” he agreed softly.  
  


**~000~**

  
After they had showered and managed to get a bit of sleep, both men were feeling immeasurably better.  Kurt smiled as Blaine padded out of the bathroom following his abbreviated night of sleep, fondness surging in his chest at the sight of Blaine's rumpled curls and cheeks that were sleep-pink even against his bruises.  Kurt patted the mattress beside him, and Blaine returned his smile as he sat down.  
  
“So,” Blaine said as he tucked his feet under himself, facing Kurt.  
  
“So,” Kurt echoed.  
  
There was a long pause, only [soft music](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0_Pq0xYr3L4) emanating from the clock radio on the bedside table and the rumble of distant traffic on the highway to muffle the silence that stretched between them.  
  
“Blaine,” Kurt began, “I'm...I'm in deep trouble, and I....” he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, steeling himself.  He couldn't put any pressure on Blaine.  This had to be something he either accepted or declined freely.  
  
“I'm the one who fucked up, Blaine,” Kurt continued, looking at Blaine.  “If I haven't made that entirely clear then I'm sorry, but if you...if you still want to turn yourself in you might be OK.  You didn't do anything wrong, and maybe...” Kurt paused, studying his hands clasped in his lap.  
  
“I'm going to Canada,” he finally said in a rush,  looking resolutely at his hands so as not to react to whatever Blaine's expression might be. “I figure I can make it in three days, maybe two if I really push.  I can buy a prepaid phone with an extended data plan and try to find some way across without dealing with border patrol, which – I mean, it might work, I don't know.   I might end up needing to hike across or something, and I won't have much money, but I can contact Finn – I still own part of the garage, so maybe we can figure something out and he can get some money to me, maybe set up an overseas account, or....”  
  
Kurt trailed off, studying dust particles dancing through a beam of sunlight near Blaine's bed.  
  
“I...I'm not asking you to come with me,” he continued.  “I would never expect you to take that kind of a risk, but I'm going to Canada, Blaine.  I just...if you want to come with me you can, but I'm going.”  
  
Kurt finally looked up and met Blaine's eyes, which were staring back at him wide and inscrutable.  
  
“Can I have some time to think about it?” Blaine asked.  Kurt tried not to let the disappointment show on his face.  
  
“Of course,” he agreed quickly,  “but I can't waste time sitting still.  Can we – I'm heading north, and you can think on the way, all right?  There's a bus station in Indianapolis, and...” Kurt swallowed.  “You can have until Indianapolis, and then – is that enough time to decide?”  
  
Blaine nodded, looking thoughtful.  
  
Kurt looked back at the sunbeam streaming in through the blinds, wondering what his life would be if Blaine decided not to come with him.  
  
“Let's go,” he said softly, interrupting his own thoughts.  “We should get on the road before it gets much later.”  
  
Blaine nodded, still looking contemplative, as Kurt began re-packing his suitcase methodically.  
  
He tried not to think about the fact that it would almost certainly be the last suitcase he ever packed on American soil.


	7. Chapter 7

**Sunday, 8:33a.m. - 1:48p.m.**

**West Virginia**

  
Santana rubbed her eyes, the never-ending list on the computer screen in front of her narrowed down to an annoyingly large number of results.  
  
“How the fuck can that many people in the state of New York own a black vintage Camaro convertible?” she demanded of her empty office. Sighing deeply, she took another deep swig of her now-cold cup of coffee. She could still filter the results down some, but either way she wouldn't be going home any time soon. She briefly contemplated just curling up and taking a nap on the floor, but decided against it. Time was of the essence, and she would get to the bottom of this.  
  
She may not be Agent Lopez anymore, but Detective Lopez still got her man.  
  
She always got her man.  
  
Santana shook her head and went back to the list in front of her. It was going to be a long day, and probably an even longer night.  
  


**~000~**

  
“So, um, I'll take these, and do you sell prepaid cell phones, by any chance?”  
  
The cashier eyed Blaine. “This here is part of the [National Radio Quiet Zone](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_National_Radio_Quiet_Zone). Cell phones don't work here.”  
  
“Oh,” Blaine replied, intrigued. “Like, they don't work at all?”  
  
“Nope,” the man answered, scratching his salt-and-pepper beard. “Cell phones, pagers, pretty much anything wireless.”  
  
“Well, I suppose that would explain the lack of radio stations on the drive up.”  
  
The cashier cracked a smile. “There are a few, but the signals are weak. Mostly they're just used for emergencies anyway.”  
  
“Well, I guess just these then,” Blaine said, gesturing to the cluster of tiny liquor bottles he'd neatly placed on the checkout counter.  
  
The man eyed the bottles. “Um...sir, are you sure you wouldn't rather have the large economy size?” he asked, gesturing to the larger bottles on the shelves to Blaine's left.  
  
“No...no, these are fine,” Blaine assured him, cradling one of the little bottles of Wild Turkey in his palm. “They're just so cute, you know?”  
  
The cashier furrowed his brow at Blaine, but didn't argue. Blaine couldn't help but blush. It was silly, of course, but somehow drinking little nips of liquor seemed less like self-medication than taking swigs from an enormous bottle.  
  
Blaine thanked the cashier, picking his bag up from the counter and nearly running headlong into Kurt outside the convenience store. Kurt had just emerged from the men's room and was looking absolutely revolted.  
  
“Piece of advice, Blaine? You're better off peeing in the bushes. Trust me.”  
  
Blaine laughed, wrinkling his nose at the scent that wafted from the bathroom as another man walked out. “Noted.”  
  
“So, Blaine,” Kurt said, suddenly serious as they walked toward the car. “I want you to call Dave.”  
  
Blaine snorted. “What for?” he asked bitterly. “Last time I called him – at two in the morning, mind you, the asshole didn't even pick up.”  
  
Kurt sighed. “Just...just call him. Tell him you're having a wonderful time and you'll be home tomorrow night.”  
  
Blaine stopped short, turning to face Kurt. “Will I be?”  
  
“ I don't know,” Kurt answered simply. “I won't.”  
  
They locked eyes, holding one another's gaze for a long moment. Kurt gave Blaine an almost-smile. “Pay phone's over there,” he said softly, motioning to the other end of the parking lot. He gave Blaine's shoulder a quick squeeze before turning around to head inside the convenience store. Blaine watched him walk away.  
  
Blaine dropped his purchases off in the car, grabbing one of the little bottles and slinging it back as he headed toward the pay phone.  
  


**~000~**

  
“Fuck!” Dave growled when his phone began to ring. Of course some asshole would have to call during the game, especially when the Giants were finally starting to come back after a horrendous start to the season. He grabbed his phone from the coffee table and frowned at the unfamiliar out-of-state number he saw on the screen.  
  
He considered not answering it for a moment, but then again, it could be that client who was still trying to decide between a Lexus and a Benz and didn't seem to understand the terms day off or Sunday or the Giants are playing. It could be Blaine. It could be Tyler – he often called Dave from friends' phones so his boyfriend didn't get suspicious.  
  
“Dave here,” he grunted when he finally relented and answered the call. He kept his eyes glued to the TV. They were so close to tying up the score...  
  
There was a crackle of silence on the line, and then a pre-recorded voice told him to press one to accept a collect call from Blaine.  
  
Dave scowled at the note he could still see on the kitchen counter from where he sat, along with a tiger lily in a vase and instructions on how to microwave the leftovers in the fridge.  He narrowed  his eyes, his attention momentarily pulled from the game as he jammed his finger against the screen of his phone to accept the call.  
  
“Blaine, where the hell are you?” he demanded before he'd even heard Blaine's voice. The leftovers had been grilled vegetables and crap, so he'd had to order his own pizza, and he'd ordered it from the place with the faggy thin crust shit by accident because Blaine wasn't there to do it for him. Dave was absolutely not amused.  
  
“Um...” came a slightly shaky voice from the other end of the line. “I'm...um...with Kurt. We...we're in the mountains and there's no, um, reception so...um...we're fishing...and...”  
  
“So you've finally completely lost your mind. Is that it?” Dave roared. “I leave for work, and you just up and take complete leave of your senses? I knew letting you hang out with Hummel would only–”  
  
“Dave, please. Calm down,” Blaine said softly. “Don't get so angry, I can explain, you see...um....Kurt, well, he has this friend who–”  
  
He started to say some other shit, but Dave almost dropped the phone completely when his eyes wandered back to the screen. Because Manning was fucking bringing it. If he could make this touchdown, it would be a fucking game changer.  
  
Dave leapt to his feet. “Hold on...” he breathed, eyes fixed on the game, not even daring to blink. Blaine didn't hear him, of course, because Dave was clutching the phone against his shoulder now, Blaine's voice droning on about Hummel or boats or fresh air or something in the background as he watched Manning get closer and closer and then fumble the fucking ball thirty feet from the end zone.  
  
“FUCK!” Dave roared, almost throwing his phone across the room before he remembered that Blaine was still talking.  
  
“...so...we'll just be gone one more day, and then we'll be home tomorrow night, OK?” Blaine finished, as Dave brought the phone back to his ear.  
  
“Like hell you will,” Dave snarled. “You will be home tonight, dammit. No, this afternoon. You will be home this after-fucking-noon, Blaine,” Dave enunciated, his lip curling. Because this shit had to end. When Blaine got home, he and Dave were going to have a very serious conversation about the nature of his relationship with one Kurt Hummel.  
  
Blaine sighed. “Dave, you...” he cleared his throat, and when he began speaking again, his voice still shook but it was also full of determination. “Dave, you're my husband, not my father.”  
  
“Oh, that is it. That is just it. That damn faggot Hummel is nothing but a bad influence on you. Now I want you home to-day, Blaine, or...I...well.” Dave paused dramatically. “Let's just say I don't think you want to know what I'll do.”  
  
Actually, Dave knew pretty much exactly what he was going to do. He'd yell some and then Blaine would feel so guilty that he'd suck him off every day for a week without expecting anything back. It almost made bullshit stunts like this one worth it, truth be told.  
  
“Dave?” Blaine ventured after a moment.  
  
“Yeah?” Dave replied brusquely.  
  
“Go fuck yourself,” Blaine said, before the line went dead.  
  
Dave pulled the phone from his ear and stared at it incredulously before finally giving in and throwing it across the room as hard as he could.  
  
“Fuck!” Dave screamed.  
  


**~000~**

 

Blaine cracked open a second bottle of Wild Turkey as soon as he got to the car, his heart still pounding from his conversation with Dave. He had never spoken to his husband that way before. Never.  
  
And he had absolutely never expected it to feel so goddamned good. He almost wanted to call Dave right back, just to tell him to go fuck himself again.  
  
The combination of the two nips he'd polished off and the vein of adrenaline running through him from the phone call made Blaine feel oddly happy for the first time since everything had gone to shit. He hummed to himself as he pulled down the visor above the passenger seat, combing his hair the way he liked it. He wondered if the lack of radio stations for the next few hundred miles would be enough to encourage Kurt to sing with him while they drove. He knew Kurt was still pretty high-strung about everything that was happening, but they hadn't sung together in so long, and they'd had to ditch their iphones with all their music on them back in Pennsylvania, and just thinking about singing with Kurt made Blaine long to do it again as soon as possible.  
  
Blaine looked up as a shadow fell across the mirror, grinning automatically and expecting to see Kurt.  
  
Blaine's smile faltered when he found himself looking into the eyes of a stranger. The guy was tall and well-built, with nicely tanned skin and what looked like a Mohawk peeking out from under a backwards baseball cap on his head. When he smiled at Blaine his eyes sparkled, and Blaine tried very hard to ignore the swoop of attraction in his gut.  
  
Because this? Was a very hot guy.  
  
“Excuse me, sir, but you seem like a nice guy,” the man said. Blaine felt his mouth twitch at the use of the term sir, because this guy looked to be about Blaine's own age.  
  
“You see, I'm a student and I'm trying to get back to school,” the guy continued, “but my ride fell through, and now I'm kinda stuck here like stink on stink. I was wondering if maybe you're going my way or I'm going your way...you might be able to help me out a little?” His eyes were like rich pools of caramel.  
  
“Oh,” Blaine answered, trying to sound cool and unfazed. “Well, I think we're headed toward Indianapolis, but I'm not sure.”  
  
“Well, that's perfect! That's just on my way. I can't even tell you how much I would appreciate it.”  
He flashed Blaine another mind-melting smile, and Blaine couldn't stop himself from blushing to his roots.  
  
“But, um...see, it's not really up to me,” Blaine explained. “It's not my car, it belongs to my friend, and...well, he'd probably say no. He's kind of, um...” uptight? Snippy? A ball of stress?…“fastidious,” Blaine finally settled on.  
  
“Maybe it's not such a great idea, then,” the man said quickly. “But you know what? I thank you for your time, and I-”  
  
“But, you know, I could ask...it, um, well, it wouldn't hurt to ask, right?” Blaine said with a shrug.  
  
“No, that's true, it wouldn't hurt...” the guy agreed, and fuck if his smile hadn't turned blatantly flirtatious at some point in their conversation.  
  
Blaine smiled up at they guy in a way that he refused to think of as goofy, before ducking his head in embarrassment. When he glanced back up he spotted Kurt headed toward them, a bag from the convenience store in one hand and a twizzler in the other.  
  
“Kurt!” Blaine called out quickly, when Kurt began to frown at the man. “Kurt. This...uh...this young man is on his way back to school, so I figured since we're going the same direction we could maybe give him a ride, right?” Blaine asked hopefully. He knew it was a long shot, but Kurt had surprised him before. And surely Kurt could appreciate how smoking hot the guy was.  
  
Kurt came to a stop beside the driver's side door, studying the man while he chewed on his twizzler. When he finally pulled the candy out of his mouth, he shot the man a tight smile.  
  
“I'm sorry, but I don't think that's a very good idea,” he answered.  
  
“No, probably not. Fair enough,” answered the guy, smiling at Kurt. “But I tell you what, you gentlemen have a nice day, all right?”  
  
Kurt nodded at him, and Blaine waved mournfully as the man began walking away, his snug jeans firmly hugging his predictably fantastic ass.  
  
“Kurt...” Blaine protested, and he didn't even care that he was almost whining. Had Kurt suddenly gone blind or something?  
  
Kurt ignored Blaine and started the car, pulling up to the now-free lone gas pump in front of the convenience store.  
  
“Kurt, did you see how polite he is?” Blaine protested, watching the man walk into the convenience store. “He's a sweetheart.”  
  
Kurt rolled his eyes, cutting the engine and asking the attendant to fill up the tank.  
  
“So what did Dave have to say?” Kurt asked, pointedly changing the subject.  
  
Blaine sighed. “Oh, you know, pretty much what you'd expect: 'It's so great to hear from you, Blaine, I just wanted to be sure you were OK. I hope you're having a wonderful time. You deserve a break, after all, you put up with me every day. I love you so much, sweetheart.'”  
  
Kurt raised his eyebrows in amusement, and Blaine pulled two more mini bottles of Wild Turkey from his shopping bag. He pressed one into Kurt's hand and uncapped the other.  
  
“Cheers,” he said, clinking the bottles together. He took a delicate swig while Kurt continued to stare at him. “So,” Blaine said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “How long until we're in fucking Canada?”  
  
Kurt's face split into a grin so radiant that Blaine forgot completely and utterly about the guy with the Mohawk and the fantastic ass. Kurt opened his mouth to speak and then closed it, furrowing his brow before opening his mouth again.  
  
“Really?” he asked quietly. “I don't want you to make a decision this big just because you're upset with Dave and you've had a few rounds of liquid courage, Blaine.”  
  
Blaine shook his head. “I'm only a little drunk, and all my talk with Dave did was tell me what I already knew.”  
  
Kurt searched Blaine's face, waiting for him to continue.  
  
“You were the only good thing I had going for me anymore as it was,” Blaine said seriously. “And if leaving everything else behind means I get to keep my best friend...that actually sounds like a pretty good deal to me, Kurt.”  
  
Kurt bit his lip, his eyes shining. He threw his arms around Blaine and squeezed him tight.  
  
“Me too,” he whispered. “I didn't want to pressure you, but I'm so happy you're coming with me, Blaine, you don't even know.”  
  
“Actually, I think I do,” Blaine replied, as they pulled away from one another. Kurt flushed slightly when he realized that the attendant had been awkwardly waiting for them to pay while they hugged.  
  
While they waited for their change, Blaine held his half-empty bottle up to Kurt's again.  
  
“To friendship,” he said, clinking the bottles together.  
  
“I'll drink to that,” answered Kurt, unscrewing the tiny cap on his bourbon.


	8. Chapter 8

**Sunday, 1:00p.m. - 4:22p.m.**

**West Virginia**

  
Santana smiled disarmingly at the elderly man who held the door open for her on his way out of the building. She slipped inside and ascended to the third floor, glancing around to make sure the hallway was empty before picking the locks with practiced ease.  
  
The apartment was small and neat, arranged to feel much more spacious than it actually was. The furniture was tasteful and understated, the artwork on the walls flamboyant and extreme. Everything seemed to be arranged with a startling degree of precision, individual pieces that should never have worked together creating an incredible aesthetic scheme overall.  
  
Santana knew what she was doing. She knew that the little voice inside of her, screaming at her that this was a bad idea, that this was going too far, that this is the kind of thing that could destroy you all over again – you remember what happened the last time, was probably the voice of reason.  
  
But when reason came up against her gut instinct, that little voice could pretty much go fuck itself every time. Not even a sense of self-preservation was enough to deter her from that.  
  
  
Santana walked through the apartment slowly, taking in every detail she could. She ran her fingertips along the edge of a bookshelf, finding it pristine and utterly dust-free, and then peered down at the gorgeous record player in a vintage console beside it.  After shuffling through the records arranged to the side of the console, Santana selected one and [let the familiar intro swell and crackle into song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rv1p1Vea0iY) around her as she continued to examine the room.   
  
She wandered over to the mantle of a bricked-over fireplace and examined the photographs neatly arranged there. There were numerous pictures of a tallish brown-haired man with pale skin and an unfairly pretty face, smiling next to a number of different people. There was a picture of the man next to an older man in a baseball cap, arms around one another and beaming happily from inside a tarnished silver frame. Next to it was a much older picture in a matching frame, of a small boy in a brunette woman's lap. The boy had the same face as the young man from the first picture, the woman's blue-green eyes shining forth from his own lovely face.  
  
Santana continued along the row of pictures; there was another picture of the young man with the man in the baseball cap, the older man's arm around a woman his own age and a very tall boy standing next to them with his hands on the young man's shoulders. Next to that was a picture of the young man and another young man with slicked-back dark curls and honey-colored eyes, laughing together and looking absolutely and undeniably in love.  
  
She glanced across several smaller pictures – most featuring the same people as those in the larger frames, a few new faces sprinkled throughout – and couldn't help but chuckle softly as her gaze fell upon the last two pictures on the mantle, slanted to sit slightly behind the others. In the first, the pretty young man stood in a fitted red and white athletic top bearing the letters WMHS across the chest and matching red track pants with white piping. In one hand he held a pair of red and white pom-poms, the other hand resting on his slightly jutted hip. He looked into the camera as if meeting a challenge, his chin raised and his eyes hard and daring and defiant. It was a professional school photograph, and at the bottom was printed a banner which read William McKinley High School Varsity Cheering, Lima, Ohio 2011. In the second picture, the young man looked a bit smaller and younger, standing in an over-sized off-the shoulder red sweater, football pants tight against his slim legs. He had a football tucked neatly under one arm and a helmet under the other, resting against his hip. Santana wondered how long he'd had to argue to forgo his jersey and padding for the official school picture before his coach had given in. At the bottom of this photograph the banner read William McKinley High School Varsity Football, Lima, Ohio 2010.  
  
Santana smoothed her thumb over each picture in turn with a small, sad smile. “Sometimes we've got to make our own rules, huh, Hummel?” she murmured softly to herself.  
  
Santana Lopez knew a kindred spirit when she saw one.  
  


**~000~**

  
“I'm just saying, I don't see how it could hurt to give someone a ride,” Blaine muttered, not looking up from the map he was studying. “He was nice; he just needed someone to help him out.” Blaine felt his face spreading into a lascivious smile. He looked over at Kurt as they slowed to a stop in front of a set of train tracks, gates down and lights flashing. The rumble of the oncoming train was loud and close.  
  
“Man, did you see his ass?” Blaine continued, draining the last of the tiny bottle in the cup holder beside him. “Dave sure doesn't have an ass like that. His ass is flatter than a crepe.”  
  
Kurt gave Blaine a much tighter smile than such a comment about Dave would usually earn him. “I'm sorry, I'm just really not in the mood for company right now,” he said. Kurt lit a cigarette and leaned back in his seat, taking a long drag. He raised a silent eyebrow when Blaine pulled one from the pack and lit it between his own lips as well.  
  
“What do you think?” Kurt asked, leaning over to get a better look at the map in Blaine's lap. “We should really try and find a secondary route from West Virginia to the border – we'll need to research a bit more, but I think our best bet is to cross in Minnesota. It'll be too hard to be inconspicuous if we try to get there through Michigan, and we should try and avoid the major highways if we can.”  
  
Blaine brought the map up to study it more closely, his cigarette dangling from his mouth.  
  
“Well, it looks like if we continue on route 50 to Parkersburg, we can avoid dipping back into Pennsylvania, which seems like a good idea to me,” Blaine replied after a moment, plucking the cigarette from his mouth and exhaling slowly. “And that will lead us to route 56 heading toward Columbus...”  
  
“No, I don't want to go through Ohio,” Kurt interrupted sharply. “Find a route that won't take us through there.”  
  
Blaine looked down at the map and then back at Kurt. Kurt was staring straight ahead and sitting up very straight, and Blaine tried not to take an inappropriate level of interest in his friend's profile. Kurt always looked gorgeous, but this version of Kurt – chin lightly stubbled, hair messy, sleeves rolled up and shirt collar unbuttoned past his clavicles revealing freshly sun-freckled skin – well. Kurt pretty much looked like pure sex.  
  
Blaine decided he should probably lay off the drinking for a bit if this was where it lead him. He forced his eyes back down to the map once again.  
  
“Um...you want to get to Northern Minnesota from West Virginia without going through Ohio?” Blaine asked carefully, side-eyeing Kurt's still-stiff posture beside him.  
  
The train finally appeared, whipping Kurt's hair against his forehead as it sped noisily past.  
  
“It's not hard, Blaine,” Kurt snapped, raising his voice above the roar of the train and refusing to meet Blaine's eye. “We can just go through Indiana instead–”  
  
“No, I know,” Blaine interjected quickly. “I mean, yeah, it's fine. It's just...you said you wanted the quickest way there using back roads and cutting through Ohio would save a lot of ti–”  
  
“Blaine, you know how I feel about Ohio,” Kurt said, finally turning to face him. His eyes were hard with resolve. “We're not going that way.”  
  
Blaine sighed. “OK, but...we're kind of running for our lives here, Kurt,” he replied as gently as he could manage, trying to stave off his own growing annoyance. “Can't you make an exception this one time?”  
  
Kurt somehow managed to sit up even straighter, something Blaine wouldn't have thought possible without the ability to levitate. “Blaine. If you can't find an alternative route, give me the map and I will. But we are not going through Ohio. Understand?” His voice was beginning to rise in both pitch and volume, and if this weren't getting old so incredibly fast, Blaine probably would have withered under his glare.  
  
“No, Kurt, actually, I don't,” Blaine answered, sitting up straighter in his own seat. “What – why don't you – how come you've never told me what happened to you there?”  
  
Kurt turned away, folding his arms tightly over his chest and once again staring straight ahead. He clenched his jaw. “Look,” he said, and his voice was softer now, barely audible over the train. “Let me just say this: If a gay man shoots a probably-passing-for-straight man outside a shamelessly gay establishment, no matter what the...the circumstances, Ohio is the last place he wants to get caught. I just...I don't want to talk about it. Just find another route, Blaine, OK?”  
  
Kurt was sitting just as straight and stiff, his eyes just as hard and determined as they had been moments before. But there was a change in them too, and a slight tremble to Kurt's voice that hadn't been there before.  
  
Blaine knew his best friend well enough to know when he was on the verge of tears.  
  
“OK,” Blaine answered softly. “Okay, we – I'll find another way.”  
  
“Thank you,” Kurt answered, quiet and grateful, as the last of the train whipped past. Blaine flicked his cigarette butt onto the tracks as they continued driving, studying the map in front of him with a frown and a thousand unanswered questions on his tongue.  
  


**~000~**

  
“Yes!” Blaine cried out, pumping his fist in the air when his attempt at playing with Kurt's radio finally resulted in crackling music pouring forth from the speakers. “We are officially out of the Radio Quiet Zone!”  
  
Kurt laughed, wrinkling his nose. “That's lovely, Blaine, but maybe you could find a different station? This one is...um...I mean, nothing against Garth Brooks, I'm sure he has many wonderful qualities, but–”  
  
“Okay, okay, just give me a minute,” Blaine muttered with a smile.  
  
Blaine fell back against his seat grinning when he found the station he decided to settle on. The second Kurt recognized[ the song,](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UFX3gQHIroU) he burst into laughter.  
  
“Oh my god, Blaine, this song right now – I don't know whether to laugh or cry,” he said, though he couldn't seem to stop smiling.  
  
“Don't do either,” Blaine answered. “Sing.” He cranked up the radio until it was blasting across the wide plains and rolling foothills around them.  
  
They sang along, voices loud and out of practice but still managing to blend together as beautifully as ever. Kurt's face looked almost relaxed and carefree, and he even reached up and gave Blaine a high-five at the chorus. Laughing, Blaine couldn't refrain from throwing in a bit of air guitar, just so he could see Kurt roll his eyes fondly.  
  
The sun was just warm enough to feel deliciously perfect on their skin against the breeze whipping around them, the sky clear and endless. And for a few moments, Kurt's car a sole spot of movement for miles beneath the open sky, Blaine let himself believe that nothing could touch them.  
  


**~000~**

  
Santana straightened her blazer before walking into Songbirds, a pretty blonde hostess all but dancing over to greet her almost immediately. Santana fought off her schoolgirl blush (because this chick was very pretty, and her smile should have been classified as an illegal substance), and gave the woman a cool smile, flashing her badge as discreetly as possible. “Excuse me,” she said, before the hostess could so much as say hello, “but is the manager in?”  
  
“Oh!” the woman responded, her eyes widening as she took in the badge. “Yes, hold on.” But rather than seeking anyone out, the woman elected, much to Santana's horror, to yell across the room instead. “Trent! There's a police lady here to see you!” She bellowed, every head in the room whipping around to stare at the two women in the doorway. Over by the bar, a baby-faced man in a pinstripe oxford shirt seemed to pale considerably before handing the drink he was mixing off to another man and making his way over to Santana quickly.  
  
Santana couldn't resist exchanging smiles with the pretty blonde again before walking over to meet him halfway.  
  
“Hello, Mr...?”  
  
“Jordan,” he answered nervously. “Trent Jordan.”  
  
“Mr. Jordan, my name is Santana Lopez, I'm with the Pennsylvania State police department. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? Perhaps we could find someplace a little bit quieter to talk?”  
  
“Of course,” Trent said, glancing around to gauge customer reactions. “May I...ask what this is in relation to?”  
  
“I just need to ask you a few questions about a Mr. Kurt Hummel? I believe he works here?”  
  
Trent's eyes went wide. “Oh, no, is Kurt okay?” the hostess asked, rushing over to join them.  
  
“I...we don't have any reason to believe he's come to any physical harm,” Santana answered carefully, “but–”  
  
“Is he in some kind of trouble?” Trent asked, looking extremely worried. “Because Kurt – he's one of the best people I know.” The hostess nodded emphatically in agreement.  
  
“Look – unless you want to discuss this here, perhaps we should–”  
  
“Oh! Yes. Sorry. Follow me, please,” Trent said, sounding flustered. “Brittany, can you keep an eye on things here while I talk to the detective?”  
  
The woman – Brittany – nodded as she stared after them, menus clutched tightly to her chest. Santana turned away and followed Trent through to the back of the bar, forcing herself not to turn and indulge herself in one last glance.  
  


**~000~**

  
[The music](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cSRKhfolyd0&feature=related) had long since faded into the background, both Blaine and Kurt drawn into their own thoughts, the silence between them companionable but intense. Blaine studied the lone figure coming into view at the rest stop in the distance. The thin, clear mountain air made everything stark and vivid and bright, and Blaine felt both buzzed and oddly lucid.  
  
“Hey...is that...?” Blaine let himself trail off as the very same guy from the convenience store came into sharper relief, sitting on a picnic table with his feet perched on the attached bench, smoking a cigarette and looking out over the valley that swept out from the road before rising into a mountain range in the distance. Behind him was a wide and nearly empty parking lot, and a small building that probably housed little more than restrooms and a vending machine. Blaine turned to Kurt, pushing his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose and peering over them with the best set of pleading puppy dog eyes he could muster. Kurt glanced sidelong at him, clearly fighting a smirk as he fixed his eyes firmly on the road ahead.  
  
As they drew closer, it was clear that the guy was clad in a thin, white tank top which clung to him in a deliciously obscene way. Blaine resorted to making actual sad, whining puppy noises.  
  
Kurt snorted. “Seriously, Blaine?”  
  
Blaine whined softly in response and Kurt rolled his eyes and sighed. “Oh, my god. I...all right! But he's your responsibility, got it?”  
  
Blaine beamed at Kurt, making happy puppy panting noises and wiggling his butt in the seat for good measure. Kurt gave him a vaguely horrified look, but pulled into the rest stop anyway, because he was seriously the best friend ever.   
  
Blaine smiled. This was going to be awesome.


	9. Chapter 9

**Sunday, 4:37p.m. - 9:36p.m.**

**West Virginia, Kentucky**

  
This apartment had far less character to it than the last one Santana had visited, though it was reasonably well put-together. It had the look of a neat and tidy home that had been taken over by a messy teenager whose parents were out of town.  
  
Dave had invited Santana into the living room, but hadn't offered her a seat or taken one himself. He also hadn't turned the TV off, and Santana had to raise her voice slightly to be heard over the sports announcer yammering through the speakers.  
  
“Last night there was a murder at a club in Pennsylvania called the Silver Bullet,” Santana explained. Dave nodded at her seriously, but his gaze flickered between the TV and Santana's face. “A man was shot,” she added, a little more loudly. This seemed to get his attention. He stared at her, waiting to hear what this could possibly had to do with him. “Have you heard of the place?” She asked.  
  
Dave furrowed his brow in thought and shook and his head. “I don't think so, no,” he answered. Santana nodded, making a quick note of this on the little notepad in her hand.  
  
“There were witnesses that said they saw a black 1969 Camaro convertible leaving the scene,” she continued. “Speeding away from the scene, really. And that vehicle is registered to one Kurt Hummel. Are you familiar with him?”  
  
Dave's eyes went almost comically wide at this, and he nodded. “Uh...yeah. I...I know Hummel.”  
  
Santana took a deep breath. “That isn't all. We have reason to believe that your husband was the other occupant of that car,” she finished, giving him a level look. Dave's jaw actually dropped.  
  
“What?” he asked, as if he genuinely hadn't heard her. Santana opened her mouth to repeat herself, but Dave cut her off. “What?” his voice had picked up an edge of hysteria, and he clutched the side of his face with one hand, walking backward as if putting space between Santana and himself would create actual distance from what she was telling him. “WHAT???” he shrieked, his breathing going rapid.  
  
Santana glanced down at the floor, covering her mouth quickly to hide a chuckle.  
  
“Excuse me, sir, I believe you're...standing in your pizza,”she said in as calm and professional a tone as she could manage. Dave looked down at the open pizza box beneath his feet, which had been strewn across the floor along with beer cans and wadded up napkins.  
  
“Shit!” Dave barked, lifting his foot to shake the half-eaten and now utterly decimated pizza free.  
  
“Um...perhaps we should sit down to continue this conversation?” Santana asked politely. Dave nodded, eyes still wide, landing heavily on the couch. Santana sat neatly in a wingback chair next to the couch, smoothing her pencil skirt as she got situated. “Now,” she said, pen poised at the top of her notepad, “why don't you start by telling me exactly where your husband was planning to go this weekend.”  
  


**~000~**

  
“So,” Puck asked  – because that was the guy's name, or at least as much of a name as he had offered them – “you guys have any kids?” He was stretched out in the backseat of the car, having neatly arranged himself around the various pieces of luggage that wouldn't fit in the trunk, tapping his foot against the back of Kurt’s seat in time with [the radio](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FWOsbGP5Ox4&feature=player_detailpage#t=78s).  
  
“No,” Blaine replied, at the same time as Kurt shook his head and countered, “does this jacket look like it's a survivor of baby vomit?”  
  
Puck laughed. “Fair enough. I'm surprised at you, though, Blaine – didn't you say you were married? You seem like you'd be a great dad.”  
  
Blaine felt himself blush slightly at the compliment. “Well I – I'd actually – I mean, I love kids, but Dave – that's my husband – he says he's not ready yet. Says he's still too much of a kid himself. He kind of...prides himself on being infantile.”  
  
“He does have a lot to be proud of,” Kurt deadpanned, lighting a cigarette.  
  
“He and Kurt don't get along,” Blaine explained, turning his body more fully to face Puck.  
  
“Hmph,” Kurt snorted. “That's putting it mildly.”  
  
“Kurt thinks he's a pig,” Blaine added, enjoying the amused smile Puck was shooting back and forth between the two of them.  
  
“Correction: I know he's a pig,” Kurt asserted.  
  
Puck continued to look back and forth between the two of them, some kind of secret insight seeming to dance behind his eyes. He turned his attention back to Blaine. “So you...you must have gotten married pretty young, Blaine. Unless you look even better for your age than I thought you did,” Puck added with a wink.  
  
Blaine blushed and ducked his head, fiddling with the empty nip of Wild Turkey in his hands. Kurt narrowed his eyes as he glanced back at Puck through the rear view mirror.  
  
“Well...I suppose twenty-two is pretty young,” Blaine admitted. “And we were together for three years before that, so.”  
  
Puck whistled long and low at that. “Man, I can't imagine being saddled with one person so young,” he said, shaking his head.  
  
“I...it's...I mean, other than fooling around with a couple guys in high school and my first year of college, I've never been with anyone but Dave,” Blaine said, starting to feel a bit flustered.  
  
“Wow,” Puck said seriously. “I'm...sorry.” He paused for a moment before adding, “You know, if you don't mind my saying so, he sounds like a real asshole.”  
  
Blaine sighed, fixing Puck with a thoughtful look. “It's OK,” he answered. “He is an asshole. Most of the time I just let it slide.”  
  
Puck looked like he was about to respond, but something caught his eye in the distance and he sat up straight. “Oh, hey, Kurt – you might want to slow down, that's a cop up ahead.”  
  
Kurt and Blaine both stiffened, exchanging terrified glances. The police car was parked far enough ahead that it could be avoided if they could find a turn off the road, but Kurt wasn't seeing one anywhere. And given that they hadn't seen another car for a good few miles, the cop might just be bored enough to run Kurt's plates for the hell of it.  
  
When he caught sight of a public access road, Kurt nearly wept with joy, turning onto it quickly and rumbling down the dirt path. Blaine's hands were clutching the sides of his seat so hard that his knuckles were white, and Kurt was fairly sure his jaw would be sore later from clenching it so tightly. The road brought them deep into the woods, and Kurt turned again at the first opportunity, going left and heading down a long stretch of rough country road before the pavement finally resumed. After a few more turns, selected completely at random, they emerged on another large two-lane road. This one did not border the valley that had previously been unfolding to their left, and was instead bordered by thick forest on both sides.   
  
Kurt paused and took a deep breath before turning onto the road and continuing along. They could figure out where they were once they saw some sort of road sign, but the important thing was that there were no police to be seen.  
  
Blaine reached over and gave Kurt's shoulder a comforting squeeze, and they exchanged relieved smiles as the car once again began to pick up speed.  
  
“So, uh...one too many parking tickets, huh?” Puck asked lightly. Kurt gave him a steady look in the rear view mirror.  
  
“Look, Puck, we'll take you to Indianapolis and then you'd better be on your way, all right?” Kurt said, his tone clipped. He was already beginning to regret giving into Blaine's pleading and picking Puck up in the first place.  
  
Puck just shrugged, sliding a cigarette between his lips. “All right,” he agreed, wisely choosing not to ask any more questions for the time being.  
  


**~000~**

  
Santana chewed on her lip as she listened to what Will was telling her over the phone.  
  
“So the results are in. Prints on the car match those belonging to Blaine Karofsky-Anderson,” he said, his voice irritatingly smug.  
  
“Okay,” she answered, pacing the tiny hotel room in tight circles. “Well, I just finished interviewing the husband. He says his gun is missing. Says Karofsky-Anderson took a lot of stuff, like he planned on being gone for awhile.”  
  
“How about that,” Will answered.  
  
“The thing is,” Santana continued, “the husband said he would never touch the gun. Said he didn't even believe in guns, and refused to learn how to shoot it. The husband got it because he's out late a lot, but he says it's just been sitting in a drawer for years.”  
  
“Huh. What kind of gun was it?”  
  
Santana sighed. She didn't want to think about how badly she did not want to answer that question. “941,” she admitted.  
  
“Right,” Will said, sounding so fucking elated that Santana wanted to throw up. He didn't know anything about these boys and obviously didn't really care to. It shouldn't have been a surprise - one surely didn't become a state police chief through acts of studied compassion. “Where are they?” Will asked, as if the question were an actual piece of detective work in and of itself.  
  
“They were on their way to a friend's cabin and they never showed up,” she answered honestly.  
  
“Any reason to think they've left the state?”  
  
I'm fairly certain that that's exactly what they've done if they've got one brain between the two of them, Santana thought. “It's definitely possible,” she said.  
  
“All right, I'm gonna go ahead and let the Bureau in on this. You stay there – Karofsky-Anderson will probably try and call his husband at some point, and I want a location nailed down on these two as soon as possible. I also want to see what else you can find out about them, if there's anyone else they could be planning to stay with or anywhere in particular they might be headed. I'm sending Ryerson to assist you.”  
  
“Ryerson? You can't be serious, Chief.”  
  
“He's good with the tracking equipment. And I figure you two will...uh...have a bit more luck communicating with the kind of people who can give us information on these two.”  
  
“There isn't some kind of secret queer handshake, Chief,” Santana deadpanned. “Can't you send Pillsbury or Jones instead? They may not be gay, but I think people really respond to the fact that neither one of them is a slimeball.”  
  
“That's enough, detective,” Will replied coolly. “Detective Ryerson will meet you in your hotel lobby first thing in the morning.”  
  
“Yes, chief,” Santana answered woodenly, before hanging up the phone. She sat down on the bed and sighed, looking around her. The hotel bar had looked depressing at best, but it wasn't really late yet, and she definitely needed a stiff drink. Maybe she could head back to Songbirds. It had actually seemed like a pretty nice place. Maybe Brittany would still be working. Maybe her shift would be ending soon.  
  
Santana stood up and rifled through her bag for something that wasn't a blazer and a black pencil skirt.  
  


**~000~**

  
Kurt had gotten vaguely accustomed to Puck's presence in the car. Blaine was obviously attracted to him, and Kurt had to admit he was pretty damn easy on the eyes, but he was so clearly straight that he didn't give it much thought.  
  
Until he did.  
  
“Yeah, I've slept with a couple guys. I don't see what the big deal is,” Puck said with a shrug. Kurt's attention suddenly shifted from [the radio](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Va1Y6uAgNJY), latching onto Blaine and Puck's conversation. “I mean, I don't usually call myself bi or anything because I tend to prefer the ladies, but if you're hot you're hot, you know? Don't matter what kind of equipment you're working with.”  
  
“It sounds to me like your sexual orientation is slut,” Kurt said suddenly, with venom. Blaine's jaw fell open.  
  
“Kurt!”  
  
“What? I just...oh my god, I was kidding. I didn't mean-”  
  
“Nah, don't apologize. I actually...I actually kind of like it,” Puck said with a broad grin, ignoring Kurt's graceless attempt to excuse his own rudeness. “My sexual orientation is slut. Cuts right to the heart of things doesn't it? Thanks, Kurt!”  
  
Kurt pursed his lips and resolutely ignored Blaine's glare.  
  
“I mean, god gave us prostates for a reason, right?” Puck added.  
  
“That's actually the best argument for Intelligent Design that I've heard,” Kurt conceded.  
  
And then Puck and Blaine were off on some new topic of conversation, while Kurt was left to stew.  
  
He formulated some very articulate arguments in his head for why Blaine should not, under any circumstances, actually sleep with Puck. First there was the fact that Blaine was married. It wasn't that Kurt cared on principle – Dave didn't deserve Blaine in the first place, so anything that would nudge them toward divorce couldn't be a bad thing – it was just that Kurt knew Blaine would care on principle. If Blaine broke his wedding vows, he would never forgive himself, and Kurt just cared too much about Blaine to watch him go down a path that–  
  
OK, so maybe he wasn't even really buying that one.  
  
But there was the undeniable fact that Blaine had just...well, he had just been raped. Or nearly raped, anyway, but he had definitely been assaulted, sexually and violently, and that wasn't the kind of thing a person just got over. Kurt was concerned what falling into bed with the first attractive guy he found might do to Blaine. And this concern was genuine, even if it wasn't the entire reason for Kurt's uneasiness at the increasingly flirtatious banter between Blaine and Puck.  
  
Kurt chewed his lip, willing the miles to fall away faster, for them to get to Indianapolis and drop Puck off and be done with him permanently.  
  
“That's a really good idea. What do you think, Kurt?”  
  
Kurt glanced over at Blaine. “About what?”  
  
“About getting a motel room for the night? There's no way we're going to make it to Indianapolis without stopping for some sleep at this point, and if I have to just doze off in the car again I think the damage to my neck might be permanent.”  
  
“I don't think that's the best idea,” Kurt said carefully, trying not to reach over and swat Puck's hands away as he began massaging Blaine's neck. “We should really save our money.”  
  
“Oh, come on. There's a – aaaaah, fuck – one of those really cheap ones just a few miles past the next intersection.” Blaine was attempting to look up lodging options on the prepaid phone they had finally purchased while Puck rubbed his neck, intermittent moans of satisfaction escaping Blaine's lips.  
  
“Blaine, I just don't think-”  
  
“Hell, I'll spring for one of those rooms,” Puck said, peering over Blaine's shoulder to look at the motel he'd found. “Whatta ya say, wanna be bunkmates?” He asked, his lips almost touching Blaine's ear. Blaine actually giggled. Kurt nearly ripped the steering wheel off its column.  
  
“Actually, it's probably a better idea if Blaine and I get our own room,” Kurt said.  
  
Blaine stared at him incredulously. “You just said you didn't want to pay for a room, but now that Puck's offering to pay for one for us, you do want to pay for one after all?”  
  
“I just...you made a good point about getting some sleep. Who knows when we're going to get a decent night's sleep again, so we should try to do it while we can. I just...I think we're better off in our own room, that's all.”  
  
“Kurt–”  
  
“Aw, come on, Blaine, man's got his reasons, I'm sure. All I care about is getting horizontal for a while, huh?”  
  
Blaine's laugh turned into a moan as Puck found another knot in his neck. Kurt decided they could risk going another five miles over the speed limit.  
  


**~000~**

  
The motel turned out to be incredibly basic but thankfully clean, and once they had said good night to Puck, Blaine rounded on Kurt.  
  
“Kurt, what is going on?”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
Blaine gave an irritated laugh. “What's up with Puck? You're acting...I don't know. Rude? Weird? More high strung than usual?”  
  
Kurt sighed, slumping onto the mattress of his twin bed and rubbing at his temples. “Blaine, we just don't know the guy. We can't automatically trust him just because he's hot and probably wants to fuck you.”  
  
When his declaration was met with a resounding silence, Kurt opened his eyes halfway. He opened them the rest of the way when he saw the expression on Blaine's face.  
  
Kurt sat up. He had never seen Blaine look at him that way before. Blaine looked like he actually wanted to punch him.  
  
“You know what, Kurt? You can be a real asshole sometimes,” Blaine said, his voice just barely managing not to shake. He grabbed his messenger bag and slung it over his shoulder. “I'm going to go hang out in Puck's room,” he said over his shoulder, as he headed toward the door.  
  
“Blaine, wait. I-”  
  
“Just...I think I just need a break from you right now, all right?” Blaine asked, the fight mostly drained from his voice. He just sounded...hurt. Kurt wanted to hug him.  
  
“All right,” Kurt finally said. “I- I'm sorry, Blaine.”  
  
“You always are,” Blaine said quietly before walking out the door.  
  
Kurt fought not to vomit, not to cry, not to wail, not to think about what Puck and Blaine would probably be getting up to alone in the room across the hall. He curled up in a ball and stared at the wall, and all he could think about was how much it felt like Blaine had punched him after all. **  
**


	10. Chapter 10

  
**Sunday, 9:36p.m. - Monday, 12:07a.m.**   
**Kentucky**   


  
“All right, come on,” Blaine said, bumping his plastic cup against Puck's. [The radio was playing](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pPOKJikcYMk) and they had made cocktails from mini bottles of Wild Turkey and soda from the machine down the hall.  It was almost a party.  “I know you're not just some hitchhiking student, Puck. Who are you really?”  
  
Puck raised an eyebrow at Blaine from his seat beside him on the bed. “Well. I've never told anyone this before, but–” Puck leaned his head in close to Blaine's, giving him a conspiratorial look. Blaine leaned in as well. “–I am actually the great and powerful Oz.”  
  
Blaine rolled his eyes and smacked Puck's shoulder. “Oh, come on. Seriously. I just want to know one fucking thing that Kurt doesn't right now. Trust me, it's both extremely petty and very important.”  
  
Puck snorted at this. “Oh, hell. I'm just some guy,” he said with a shrug, scratching his fingers through his short, un-styled Mohawk. “A guy whose parole officer is probably having a shit fit right about now.”  
  
Blaine froze. “Wh-what do you mean parole officer? Are you a criminal?”  
  
“No! Not any more, Blaine, I swear. Besides busting parole I haven't done one wrong thing.”  
  
“Well...uh...what did you do?”  
  
Puck shrugged, taking a long drink from his cup. “I'm a robber.”  
  
Blaine's eyes went wide. “You're a bank robber?”  
  
“No! No, of course not, that's crazy,” Puck said, sounding almost offended.  
  
“Oh. Well, what...uh...what did you rob?”  
  
Puck tapped his chin. “Well, let's see here...let's add it up. I robbed a gas station, a couple convenience stores, a couple liquor stores...”  
  
Blaine gave a short, excited laugh, before slapping his hand over his mouth. “Oh my god,” he said when he took his hand away. “You...I mean...how?”  
  
Puck shrugged.  “I don't know, I was kinda broke and it's something I'm good at, so–”  
            
“No, I mean how did you do it?  Did you just hide out until the store closed or–”  
  
“No way, dude, that's burglary,” Puck interrupted with a frown  “Burglary's for cowards.  I'm no burglar, I'm a robber.”  
  
“I still don't see the difference,” Blaine admitted with a shrug, raising an eyebrow at Puck in challenge.  
  
Puck smirked back at him. “Okay, fine. You wanna know what I do? Well, first you pick your place, right? Then I just sit back and watch it for awhile. Wait for that right moment to make my move, you know? And that's something you've got to know up here.” Puck paused to knock the side of his head with his fist twice. “That shit cannot be taught. And then...” Puck ducked his head, blushing slightly. “Shit, Blaine, I don't want to talk about this.”  
  
“Oh, come on!” Blaine begged, tugging at Puck's arm. He leaned into Puck's personal space and gave him the puppy dog eyes that always seemed to work on Kurt. “I really like hearing about it,” he added, making absolutely no effort to keep the sultry edge out of his voice.  
  
Puck's face spread into a sly smile. “All right, then,” he conceded with a sigh. “So then I just waltz on in...” Puck slid to his feet, walking over to the sink and mirror that were set up outside the bathroom. He grabbed the motel's complimentary hairdryer from its shelf next to the sink and tucked it into his waistband like a gun in a holster. As he walked back toward Blaine he grabbed his baseball cap off the top of the TV and slid it, backwards, onto his head.  
  
“...and I say,” he continued, facing Blaine with a smile, “'ladies, gentlemen, let's see who wins the prize for keeping their cool. Simon says...” Puck whipped the hairdryer from his waistband and held it aloft, “...everybody down on the floor.”  
  
Blaine couldn't help but watch Puck's act with unmasked delight. He could only imagine what it would feel like to be that calm and powerful and in control.  
  
“...Now, if nobody loses their head, then nobody loses their head,” Puck continued. “Uh...you, sir,” he said, pointing to an imaginary person with the hairdryer, “yeah. You do the honors. Take that cash and put it in that bag right there, and you got an amazing story to tell all your friends. And if not, well, you got a tag on your toe. You decide.”  
  
Puck put the hairdryer down, presenting Blaine with a small bow. “Then I thank them for their time and just slip out, and, uh, get the hell out of dodge,” he said, sitting back down beside Blaine, who was clapping enthusiastically.  
  
“Wow,” Blaine said, tickled. “You certainly are...gentlemanly about it.”  
  
“Well, I've always believed, if done properly, that armed robbery doesn't have to be a totally unpleasant experience,” Puck confided thoughtfully.  
  
Blaine smiled. “You're really something else.”  
  
Puck leaned back on his arms.“You aren't so bad yourself,” he said with a lascivious grin.  
  
Blaine swallowed hard..  
  
“I see the way you look at me, you know,” Puck added, his voice low and quiet.  
  
Blaine felt his cheeks heat up. “Oh. I....um...I'm sorry, I just...”  
  
“Nah, it's fine,” Puck said with a chuckle. “I know I'm irresistible. And you are hot enough for me to make one of my trademark exceptions for. I'll even bottom.”  
  
Blaine gaped at him. “Wow, you are...that's pretty...wow. You're direct.”  
  
Puck shrugged in agreement. “Life's short. Grab what makes you happy, that's my motto.” He sat up, leaning so close that Blaine could feel Puck's breath on his face. “What do you say? See something you want to grab?”  
  
“I...I...” this had been all well and good in theory, but Puck was actually here, actually offering–  
  
Puck was leaning in slowly, his hand gently cupping Blaine's cheek, urging him to tip his head to the side and–  
  
And Blaine didn't want this. He wanted closeness, and intimacy, and everything that marriage was supposed to give him but never had. He wanted a connection that went deeper than flesh on flesh. Looking into Puck's eyes, Blaine saw everything that he wanted. But none of it was there. Not in those eyes. He wanted–  
  
“I think I need to go talk to Kurt,” Blaine whispered before Puck's lips could connect with his.  
  
Puck dropped his hand and pulled back to look at him. He gave Blaine a rueful smile.  
  
“You know what? I think you're right,” he said. “I was just hoping to get laid before you figured that out.”  
  
Blaine ducked his head and laughed, because – god. If even Puck could tell–  
  
“You guys have seriously never hooked up before?”  
  
Blaine bit his lip and shook his head.  
  
“Well, how long've you two been dancing around each other, anyway?”  
  
Blaine swallowed. “I...I don't know if he even...” he muttered, but let his protestations die in the face of Puck's incredulous look. Blaine sighed. “Too long,” he admitted.  
  
“Well, if I'm not getting laid, you two hooking up has gotta be the next best thing,” Puck said, sounding heartened. “Unless...you're not hiding a hot chick friend somewhere, are you?”  
  
Blaine shook his head and smiled. “Sorry.”  
  
“All right then,” Puck sighed. “You go get your boy and I'll see if I can find some decent porn channels.”  
  
Puck began to move toward the TV, and then stopped abruptly. “Wait – hold on. I've got something for you.”  
  
Blaine looked on curiously as Puck unzipped his backpack and began rifling through it. “Ah! Here we are,” he said with satisfaction, turning and handing Blaine a handful of small, colorful items. Blaine blushed beet red when he realized that Puck was giving him an assortment of condoms and miniature packets of lube.  
  
“Puck...” Blaine finally managed when the shock wore off, “I appreciate the thought but I don't...”  
  
“Don't worry about it,” Puck dismissed with a wave of his hand. “I still have plenty left, and the hotel lotion from the bathroom's all I'm going to be needing tonight. Unless you'd rather...” Puck waggled his eyebrows at Blaine, his gaze meandering down to Blaine's crotch.  
  
“No,” Blaine replied quickly. “Thank you for the offer, but...still no. I...thank you, Puck. For everything.” Blaine smiled at Puck, trying to convey the true depth of his appreciation even through his embarrassment over the condoms and his nervousness (or, more accurately, terror) at having to talk to Kurt.  
  
“Anytime,” Puck said, holding his fist out to Blaine. Blaine bumped it with his own without a second thought. “Now get the hell out of here or you're going to be getting an eyeful of pussy in about five seconds.”  
  
“Already gone,” Blaine called over his shoulder, moving toward the door as quickly as possible.  
  
Blaine walked the several paces between Puck's room and Kurt's as slowly as he could manage. He stuffed the condoms and lube packets into his pocket, clearing his throat and straightening the hopelessly wrinkled collar of his shirt as he stared at the hotel room door.  
  
It was now or never.  
  
He put his hand on the doorknob and then paused, finally deciding to knock instead. It just somehow felt like the right thing to do.  
  
“Just a moment!” came Kurt's muffled voice, rising above [soft music](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iQL-b0Bp_9E&feature=related) inside the room. Blaine stood, staring at the door and feeling like his heart was going to eat him alive if Kurt didn't answer the damn door pretty much immediately. He had never felt this raw or exposed in his life, and he had a sharp and fleeting desire to simply run back to the safety of Puck's room, straight porn or no straight porn.  
  
When Kurt finally answered the door, his eyes were very red and puffy, his cheeks wet and his hair a mess. He had changed into his pajamas, and his bare feet poked out from the slightly too-long bottoms.  
  
Blaine had never wanted anyone so much in his entire life.  
  
“Blaine,” Kurt said, looking shocked. “I – why did you knock? You could have just come in, it's your room too.”  
  
Blaine stared at him. He felt his eyes begin to prickle, and he had no idea why, but when he finally managed Kurt's name, it was hitched on a sob. Blaine walked into the room and pulled Kurt into his arms and wept because he just didn't know.  
  
He didn't know how he hadn't seen it all along, and he didn't know what he would do if Kurt were to reject him. He didn't know what it would mean if he finally said it, and he didn't know if it would save his life or destroy it that much more messily. He didn't know if he would be alive tomorrow, and he didn't know what he would do if he lost Kurt forever.  
  
But what he did know was that if this wasn't a time in his life for taking risks, such a time would never come to pass.  
  
“Blaine?” Kurt asked softly, stroking his back in soothing patterns.  
  
“I love you,” Blaine choked out.  
  
Kurt hummed happily. “I know. I love you too. It's okay, I'm not ups–”  
  
“No, I don't – I don't mean that I just love you as a friend.”  
  
Kurt went very still in Blaine's arms.  
  
“I mean, I'm in love with you, Kurt. And I need you to know that. Because if we die and I never said it–”  
  
Kurt pulled back and looked at him, roaring ocean eyes full of so much that Blaine found himself unable to read them at all. Kurt slowly disentangled himself from Blaine, but before panic could set in, Kurt had gently taken Blaine's hand.  
  
“Blaine, do you remember when we first met?” Kurt asked softly, his expression neutral.  
  
Blaine took a deep breath. “Yeah,” he murmured on the exhale.  
  
“Do you remember what you said?”  
  
Blaine's mouth tugged itself into a lopsided grin. “Um...yeah. I said you have a nice pair of eyes.” Blaine rolled his own eyes at the memory.  
  
“And what did I say? Do you remember?” Kurt asked, his lips forming the ghost of a half-grin.  
  
“Yeah. You shut them and then asked me if I knew what color they were.”  
  
“And what did you say?”  
  
Blaine's smile turned sheepish. “I didn't know,” he answered.  
  
Kurt lifted his free hand up to Blaine's face, and gently covered Blaine's eyes.  
  
“Blaine, what color are my eyes?” Kurt asked.  
  
Blaine laughed softly. “They're blue,” he said, “Or green. Depending on the light. Or sometimes, when it's overcast, they look gray.”  
  
Kurt slid his fingertips across Blaine's eyelids and down the side of his face, curving his palm in to cup Blaine's cheek. Blaine's eyes fluttered open, locking on Kurt's. “Yours are like warm honey and pine trees in the sunlight,” Kurt said, and Blaine's stomach floated happily down to his shoes.  
  
They smiled at each other. “I think I might have been in love with you since the day we met,” Kurt whispered.  
  
It was as if an actual magnetic pull jumped to life between them, Kurt's words barely leaving his mouth before Blaine was tilting his head to better receive Kurt's lips against his own. The first press of lips was light and sweet and perfect, and the second was firm and a little deeper and just as perfect as the first. And before they knew it they had lost count as they pulled their bodies flush together and kissed and kissed and kissed and kissed like they would die if they stopped.  
  
And every single kiss was as perfect as the first.  


	11. Chapter 11

**Monday, 12:17a.m. - 2:39a.m.**

**Kentucky**

  
“Blaine, we don't – we don't have to – we – oh – oh, god, Blaine...”  
  
Kurt was trying to be chivalrous and Blaine appreciated it, he really did, but the idea that he wouldn't want Kurt in every possible way was sheer madness. Kurt was the most beautiful man Blaine had ever seen, and the way he was touching Blaine was unraveling him completely, and to be honest Blaine had never really had good sex in his entire life, and he was sure it would be good with Kurt, and if Kurt didn't want to have sex with him Blaine would live, but his dick would probably fall off before the night was through.  
  
Blaine rolled them so that Kurt was on top of him, grinding his hips up into Kurt's hot groin before Kurt could fully adjust to the change in position, making him moan loudly and drop his head onto Blaine's shoulder.  
  
“I want to,” Blaine murmured in his ear. “I want to do everything with you, and if you want to–”  
  
“Yes,” Kurt panted. “Anything.” He slid his hand underneath the back of Blaine's head, cradling him tenderly while he leaned down to kiss Blaine deep and slow and searching. Blaine melted into the mattress, hands clutching at the fabric of Kurt's shirt, tongue probing greedily for everything Kurt was willing to give him.  
  
When Kurt lifted his lips from Blaine's, Blaine whined and strained for him to return. Kurt smiled adoringly down at him and ran the backs of his fingers across Blaine's cheek.  
  
“Blaine, it would be so easy just to get lost in you,” Kurt murmured.  
  
“Then do,” Blaine urged, angling his head up to suck at Kurt's soft throat.  
  
“But...Blaine, we should talk about this. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours since–”  
  
Blaine stopped mouthing at Kurt's neck, his head dropping back onto the pillow with a heavy sigh.  
  
“Please don't bring him into it, Kurt,” Blaine begged softly.  
  
“I just don't want you to do anything you're uncomfortable with,” Kurt insisted, keeping his eyes focused on Blaine's. “I know what – I don't want you to feel like we have to do this just because things are...heightened for us right now.”  
  
Blaine bit his lip. “But what if we never have the chance to be together like this again? If we don't make it into Ca–”  
  
“I know,” Kurt cut in gently but firmly. “I know everything could just fall apart. But that isn't a good enough reason, Blaine.”  
  
“It's not the only reason,” Blaine promised, reaching up to run his fingers through Kurt's hair. “I really want to. I feel like I already know you in every other way – it just – I really want to know all of you. I want to be that close to you, Kurt, and I don't want to wait.”  
  
Kurt gazed down at Blaine, waiting. “But?” he prompted. Kurt knew there was something, and he wasn't going to let this go any further until Blaine told him what it was. Blaine sighed, averting his eyes from Kurt's.  
  
“Okay, there is one thing, but – I mean, it's okay if it's a problem for you, I can get past it, it's – okay. Would it be all right with you if I didn't...bottom? I mean, not forever, I just–”  
  
“Blaine.” Kurt gently tilted Blaine's head toward him until their eyes met once again, trying not to thrill too much at the sound of forever. “Of course.”  
  
Blaine smiled, relieved, but went back to worrying his lip again within seconds. “I didn't mean, though – we can just do other stuff tonight, if you don't want to we don't–”  
  
Kurt burst out laughing, wrapping his arms around Blaine tight and flipping them again so that Blaine was on top of him.  
  
“I want to,” he whispered into Blaine's ear, and that was the last thing either of them said for a very, very long time.  
  
[The music from the radio](http://www.metacafe.com/watch/5392358/tricky_overcome/) swallowed their soft noises as they kissed slow and lingering; moist, warm breath and lips dancing together as if in a languorous trance. They shifted so that they lay side by side, trailing tiny, reverent, worshipful kisses across chins and cheeks and necks, hands so gentle, touches so, so light. Eskimo kisses, heartbreaking in their sweetness, punctuated teasing nibbles and the press of lips against skin. There was no hurry to let the heat truly build, none of the urgency they'd felt surging through them before. They were as far outside of time as either of them had ever felt.  
  
But even in their timeless place the heat did build, the urgency did return. Their bodies had wanted this for far too long.  
  
Their movements became more urgent and deliberate, and soon they were rolling across the narrow bed so that Blaine was on top of Kurt, and then Kurt was on top of Blaine, and by the time they rolled clear off the bed and landed in a tangled heap on the carpet, they were far too desperate and lost to possibly care. They kissed and rolled and pulled at hair and clothing and limbs with frantic whimpers and groans, overwhelmed with the need to eradicate every boundary that separated them from one another.  
  
It was after Blaine had shed his pants but before he lost the underwear that Kurt closed his fingers around Blaine's wedding ring and frowned. “Isn't this a little heavy?” he asked, and Blaine smirked and then pursed his lips in faux concentration.  
  
“You know, I have felt like there's something weighing me down lately,” he acknowledged.  
  
“Maybe we could...um...lighten the load a little bit?” Kurt asked, slowly easing the ring from Blaine's finger. Blaine stared; Kurt was naked and flushed and hard, all of his concentration focused on essentially peeling Blaine's wedding vows to Dave from his very flesh. There was a possessive glint in Kurt's eye, and he playfully mimed putting all his strength into hefting the ring into an abandoned cup of Wild Turkey and flat mineral water on the bedside table.  
  
Blaine swallowed, a bit startled by how arousing it was to see Kurt slide the ring off and dispose of it so blithely, before sinking to his knees to pull down Blaine's briefs and take him into his mouth in one fluid motion.  
  
And strange as it was, being freed from his wedding ring did make Blaine feel lighter than he had in years. Or perhaps that was just the talented way the very tip of Kurt's tongue followed the vein on the underside of Blaine's cock,  his lips sliding up Blaine's rigid length with firm pressure.  
  
Either way, it was pretty much the best Blaine had ever felt in his life.  
  
Kurt was so gentle, teasing him smiling and slow to learn how his body responded to every touch, every lick, every light press of teeth. Kurt sucked him until he was so close he couldn't stand it, and then moved down the length of his body, kissing warm, wet paths up his legs and down his belly, worshiping the dimples in his lower back and the generous swell of his buttocks, lingering behind his elbows and knees and shoulder blades. Blaine had never felt so comfortably immersed in his own pleasure. He had never felt so treasured or so loved.  
  
When he couldn't take it any longer, Blaine caught Kurt around the middle and pressed him into the carpet, staring in awe at the smooth, soft skin wrapped like living art around lean muscle and chiseled jaw and perfect ass and adorably oversized feet.  
  
“You're so stunning,” Blaine whispered, fingers tracing Kurt's hot, thick shaft, pink and flushed and velvet-soft.  
  
Every single inch of him was absolutely beautiful.  
  
They found their way back onto the same bed they had started out on when Blaine finally, eyes bright and cheeks red, presented Puck's gifts from the pocket of his discarded jeans.  
  
Kurt lay back, as spread out as possible on the twin mattress, eyes wide and nervous and trusting. Blaine swallowed hard as Kurt spread his legs and hiked his knees up high, exposing himself to Blaine completely and nearly causing Blaine's heart to falter to a complete stop.  
  
“I...I haven’t...I mean, Dave only let me top a couple of times early on, so, I mean, it's been a while since...” Blaine took a deep, steadying breath. “You are sure about this, Kurt?”  
  
“I am sure that I'm holding my ass open for you, Blaine. I'm not sure how to give a clearer signal than that,” Kurt responded, but his voice was soft and his eyes were even softer. “I want to feel you inside me,” he added seriously, when Blaine's nerves did not appear to dissipate. Blaine whimpered softly at the request, fumbling with one of the tiny packets of lube.  
  
Blaine teased Kurt's entrance slowly, watching for signs of discomfort and feeling himself relax when all he saw on Kurt's face was trust and arousal and soft bliss.  
  
“Blaine,” he whispered, and a dry sob lodged itself in Blaine's throat.  
  
“Say it again,” Blaine murmured. “Just like that.”  
  
“Blaine,” Kurt whispered again, his eyes fluttering closed and his face lax with pleasure as Blaine's fingertip finally breached him. “Blaine, Blaine, Blaine, Blaine...”  
  
Blaine worked his way up to three fingers, using two lube packets and stroking Kurt's thigh with his free hand as Kurt began to tremble beneath him.  
  
“Blaine, please...”  
  
He rolled on a condom before crawling up the length of Kurt's body, and he couldn't stop himself from shaking. He stared down at Kurt's face; his eyes were wide and his pupils blown black.  
  
Their lips met in a kiss, hard and messy and wet. Blaine felt the soft skin and firm muscles of Kurt's thighs sliding along his hips, curling around Blaine, his knees akimbo and heels settling into the dimples in Blaine's lower back, pressing gently. Blaine chuckled softly against Kurt's lips at the unspoken plea, pulling back to look down at Kurt.  
  
“Okay?” Blaine whispered.  
  
Kurt nodded. “Yeah.”  
  
Blaine lined himself up and began to push in, holding himself steady with one hand and moving the other to clasp Kurt's, their fingers lacing together beside Kurt's head on the pillow.  
  
“Oh, god, Blaine,” Kurt breathed. “It...it's you...you feel...oh, god...”  
  
Blaine was biting his lip, and only managed a strangled whimper and a nod of agreement as he stared into Kurt's eyes.  
  
He was inside of Kurt.  
  
They both stilled completely when Blaine was fully seated, soft flesh pressed tight against soft flesh. They panted, chests touching and retreating from one another, hearts pounding wild.  
  
And then their lips met and everything hit them like a fucking freight train.  
  
Neither had ever let himself understand how much he wanted the other man. It was blinding and overwhelming and so fucking perfect that it made them both scream.  
  
Blaine fucked Kurt hard and slow at first, eyes locked on eyes, breath thick between hot, wet kisses.    
  
“Love you,” Blaine whispered raggedly against Kurt’s lips.  Kurt raised his lips slightly to whisper it back, the words turning into a kiss before they had completely left his mouth.  Their bodies began to find a common rhythm, their movements building speed, moving together fast and slick as they grappled for deeper and harder and more.    
  
Kurt gasped, wrapping his body more tightly around Blaine when the angle shifted just so, making Blaine groan low and loud, his eyes rolling back in pleasure as he thrust hard into Kurt’s body.  Kurt’s back arched high off the bed in response, fingers digging into the firm muscle of Blaine’s back as he begged and groaned and Blaine grabbed at his thighs, hips pumping jackrabbit-fast, and holy fuck they were both completely lost.    
  
They fucked like that until Kurt surged forward, pushing Blaine onto his back and straddling him, pounding himself down onto Blaine's cock and throwing his head back to gasp at the ceiling. And when Blaine was sure he was about to come, he pulled out and hauled Kurt to his feet with desperate, sweat-slicked hands.  
  
Blaine swept an arm across the sturdy shelf on the wall that was exactly the right height for this, cans and bottles and cups and pots of moisturizer flying to the carpet, a floor lamp crashing to the ground in the process. He lifted Kurt onto the shelf and angled his hips and plunged deep inside of him, slamming into Kurt’s prostate and making him dig his fingers into Blaine’s hair and scream.  
  
Kurt was drunk with pleasure, drowning in the smell and taste and feel of Blaine all around him. He hitched his legs up high, calves almost brushing Blaine's shoulder blades, greedy to somehow take Blaine's cock even deeper into his body. He glanced over Blaine's shoulder with hazy eyes when he caught a flash of movement, gasping when he realized what he was looking at.  
  
On the wall opposite them was a mirror. And there was Blaine, muscles in his back shifting, round, perfect ass flexing as he fucked into Kurt hard and fast. Kurt watched his own pale fingers curl around Blaine's shoulder and into his dark, sweaty curls, saw Blaine dip his arms under Kurt's knees before bracing his hands against the wall again, holding Kurt's legs high and obscenely wide as Blaine fucked him harder and harder still.  
  
Kurt tightened his fingers in Blaine’s hair and pulled slightly, refusing to close his eyes no matter how good it was, no matter how hard Blaine pressed into his prostate, making his toes curl.  
  
Blaine released one of Kurt's legs, moving his hand to stroke Kurt's aching cock with strong, firm pulls. Kurt watched Blaine's arm moving in the mirror as he jerked Kurt off, his bicep flexing and his golden ass clenching, Kurt's own long, milky legs jerking in time with Blaine's thrusts.    
  
Kurt felt a strangled noise, low and nearly animalistic, rip from the depths of his own throat. He threw his head back, jerking and spasming as Blaine fucked him and pumped him and Blaine's ass and his back and his shoulders and his arms kept moving so beautifully in the mirror that Kurt couldn't take it anymore, and came so hard black spots danced across his eyes as he called out Blaine's name and slumped against the wall.  
  
Blaine plunged into him in a frenzy, wails suppressed through gritted teeth, arms braced against the wall. Kurt watched the mirror in fascination as Blaine's gorgeous body twitched hard and he buried himself to the hilt inside of Kurt, sobbing Kurt's name over and over and over again as he came.  
  
They stayed like that for a few moments, breathing and clutching each other close and crying a little because it was just so much. When Blaine finally lifted his head from Kurt's shoulder to kiss his lips gently, Kurt sighed with contentment, wrapping his hands around the back of Blaine's neck.  
  
“We've barely slept since we left New York,” Kurt finally murmured. “Come to bed with me?”  
  
Blaine sighed happily. “We can't just sleep here?” he asked against Kurt's lips, and Kurt smiled against him.  
  
“We'd probably be pretty sore in the morning.”  
  
“I think you might be sore in the morning regardless,” Blaine said, an edge of guilt creeping into his voice. “I'm so-”  
  
“If you apologize for the best sex I've ever had in my life, Blaine Anderson, I will stab you in the nipple,” Kurt interrupted, pressing his fingernail to the edge of Blaine's nipple in warning. Blaine laughed, twisting away from Kurt and catching his wrist.  
  
“That's no way to thank a guy for – um – I mean, was it really the best–”  
  
“The best I've ever had,” Kurt confirmed, kissing Blaine's jaw.  
  
Blaine gave him a shy smile. “Me too,” he admitted. “God, I can't even – it's like night and day. I never – I never knew sex could be like that.”  
  
“It usually isn't. It's the Kurt Hummel special,” Kurt deadpanned. “So you'd better just stick to me from now on when it comes to your sexual needs.”  
  
Blaine kissed him again. “I plan on it,” he answered. **  
**


	12. Chapter 12

**Monday, 8:42 a.m. - 2:14p.m.**

**Kentucky**

  
“Now, both your husband and Kurt Hummel's cell phones were found at a rest stop about thirty miles from the shooting,” Santana explained as Sandy set up his equipment on Dave's dining room table. Dave eyed the state-issued Mac book at the center of the table as if it were some foreign and sinister device.  
  
“It is possible that Blaine may try to call you from a prepaid cell phone or a phone booth,” Santana continued, “though a prepaid phone is probably more likely. Now, you understand that we're going to use your phone to try and get a satellite read on where they are if he calls.”  
  
“Is that going to cost me?” Dave demanded.  
  
“We're going to need you to try and keep him on the phone as long as you can,” Santana continued, ignoring Dave's question. “Now...I don't mean to get personal, Mr. Karofsky–Anderson–”  
  
“Just Karofsky,” Dave corrected her for probably the third time. “Blaine's the only one who went for that hyphenation bullshit.”  
  
“Mr. Karofsky, then,” Santana conceded, enjoying Dave's irritation at being called by the wrong name. “Do you have a good relationship with your husband?”  
  
Dave glared at her. “I...I love Blaine,” he insisted with just a little too much force.  
  
Santana held her hands up placatingly. “And I'm not trying to suggest otherwise. It's just a standard question I have to ask. Are you close with him?”  
  
“Yeah,” Dave muttered, “I guess. I mean, I'm about as close as I can be to a nutcase like that.”  
  
Santana raised an eyebrow, failing to hide her amusement.  
  
“Yeah, well, if he calls, just...be gentle,” Sandy interjected, his voice managing to drench the word gentle completely in sleaze. “Like you're really happy to hear from him? Like you really miss him.”  
  
Dave is rolled his eyes at the idea, grimacing slightly.  
  
“The queeny ones love that shit,” Sandy added with a wink. Santana turned her head so they wouldn’t see her roll her eyes.  
  
Dave stared at Sandy for a moment and then burst out laughing. “The queeny ones love that shit! Ha! That's classic!”  
  
Santana briefly wondered if bashing Dave and Sandy's heads together would be seen as a breach of professional ethics.    
  


**~000~**

  
The sounds of traffic and birdsong coaxed Kurt into wakefulness, thin needles of sunlight piercing through  scattered holes in the blinds . He took a deep breath, smiling as he exhaled because he just felt so good. He couldn't remember feeling this amazing first thing in the morning in...well...quite possibly ever. He shifted slightly, knowing before he turned to look that the warm weight curled into his side was Blaine, and that made him feel even more incredible.  
  
Because it had happened. He hadn't dreamt it.  Which meant that he hadn't dreamt up the more nightmarish events of the past thirty-six hours either, but he couldn't really bring himself to think about it just then, because Blaine.   
  
He and Blaine, they had happened. All the time and energy and resolve he had put into convincing himself that he was over Blaine, that he'd left all those unrealistic and unrequited feelings behind in college, had crumbled on contact when Blaine had confessed his love to him.  
  
Because who was Kurt fooling anyway? Not Trent. Not his father, when he had been alive. Not Dave.  
  
Kurt couldn't fight a slightly malicious smile. He wondered what Dave would do if he could see them right now. He couldn't decide if Dave would be more likely to beat the crap out of Kurt or try and worm his way into a threesome.  
  
Either way, it wouldn't change a thing. Because Blaine was Kurt's and Kurt's was Blaine's. And nothing short of a prison cell on death row could take Blaine from him now.  
  
Kurt tightened his arms around Blaine. He hadn't wanted to go to prison before, and he certainly hadn't wanted to get executed, but now it was even more than a desire for life and freedom. Because now, life and freedom meant life and freedom with Blaine. A new life with his best friend by his side had softened the blow of all he was leaving behind, but now–  
  
Kurt couldn't lose Blaine now. He simply couldn't.  
  
Blaine gave a soft murmur beside him, and Kurt smiled, nuzzling into his neck and kissing soft across his clavicles and Adam’s apple and up to the place where his stubble began in earnest. He brushed his lips across the sandpapery skin, and Blaine's throat beginning to vibrate with giggles.  
  
“Hey! That tickles!” He protested, voice rough with sleep, but made no move to stop Kurt's ministrations.  
  
“Good morning,” Kurt mumbled against Blaine's jaw, as he continued kissing upward until he reached Blaine's lips.  
  
“Good morning,” Blaine said, smiling sleepily up at Kurt before lifting his head to meet him halfway.  
  
They kissed lazily, morning breath be damned, and Kurt couldn't get over how giggly and loopy Blaine seemed, smiling so hard his face was in danger of breaking. When Blaine finally propped himself up on an elbow beside him, Kurt burst into delighted laughter.  
  
“Oh my god, Blaine, your hair,” Kurt laughed, running a hand through his wild mess of bushy curls.  
  
“Hmmm,” Blaine agreed, dopey smile in place. “Guess it got messed up.”  Kurt had absolutely never seen Blaine this relaxed about his hair before.  
  
“I like it,” Kurt said, burying his fingers in the debauched mess.  
  
“I like you,” Blaine replied, after dipping down to kiss Kurt firmly. “God, it's like I finally know what all the fuss is about now. It's just...I didn't know it could be like this, you know? You...Kurt, I just...”  
  
“You finally got laid properly?” Kurt interjected with a raised eyebrow, feeling very satisfied with his prognosis indeed.  
  
Blaine swatted his chest playfully. “Oh, don't be so smug. I might not actually be the best you ever had, but I do seem to recall–”  
  
“Blaine.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“You're the best I've ever had. Even in a post-coital haze, I only speak the truth.”  
  
“I love you,” Blaine murmured, leaning in to kiss Kurt again, his hand running up and down the side of Kurt's bare waist and hip.  
  
“I love you too,” Kurt returned against Blaine's lips, digging his fingers deeper  into Blaine's curls and angling his head to deepen the kiss.  
  
“Mmmmm...” Blaine murmured, rolling onto his back and pulling Kurt down on top of him. “What time is it?”  
  
Kurt heaved a sigh. “I really don't want to know,” he responded, settling his full weight on top of Blaine and tucking his head against Blaine's chest.  
  
“Me neither, but checkout's at eleven, so–”  
  
Kurt sighed again, and then raised his head to look at the alarm clock between the two beds. He groaned unhappily when he read what it had to say.  
  
“It's ten-fifteen,” he grumbled.  
  
“Well, that might be enough time to–”  
  
“Blaine. Look around. The place is trashed, and I am not putting one of my precious few sets of clean clothes on until I've had a shower.”  
  
Blaine sat up. “We could, um...save time...shower together...”  
  
“Somehow I highly doubt that would actually save any time,” Kurt responded with a laugh.  
  
Blaine grinned. “Okay, fair point. I at least need some caffeine in my system first, though. Can you give me some money for the coffee machine down the hall?” He glanced around the room, trying to locate Kurt’s messenger bag.  
  
Kurt went rigid.  
  
“I...um...thought you were holding onto the money, Blaine,” he answered slowly.  
  
“I...” Blaine froze.  
  
Kurt took in the nervous look of dawning realization on Blaine's face. He swallowed. “Blaine, sweetie, where's the money?”   
  
“In...in my bag,” Blaine replied. “It just...I think I must have left it in Puck's room.”  
  
Kurt didn't take a single second to process this information. Body on auto-pilot, he tore out of bed, pulling on the nearest set of clothing he could find; his pajama shirt and Blaine's jeans from the night before, which were frankly too small.  Kurt yanked them up his legs anyway, leaving the fly mostly undone as he ran toward the door.  
  
“Kurt, it's fine,” Blaine insisted,, fighting a losing battle to remain calm. “Puck's probably not even up yet, I'm sure he–”  
  
But Kurt didn't stick around to hear any more. He flung the door open, Blaine yelping in surprise and pulling the covers up quickly, and flew across the hall to Puck's room.  
  


**~000~**

  
Blaine spotted a motel robe hanging in the open closet area near the foot of the bed and shrugged it on, refusing to let himself think about how many other people had used it before and whether it had even been washed recently. He ran through the door, his stomach forming a hard, cold knot when he saw the door to Puck's room flung open, absolutely no voices audible from within.  
  
Kurt stood in the middle of the room, staring. Blaine's bag was emptied across one of the beds.  
  
The money was missing.  
  
“No,” Blaine whispered, looking around frantically. “No, he couldn't have. He–”  
  
But the money was not under the bed or in the pocket of the cardigan that had been in Blaine's bag. The money was not in the bathroom or behind the TV or amongst the empty cups and bottles and wadded up tissues that littered most of the surfaces throughout the room. The money had not ended up in a drawer or on a shelf.  
  
The money was gone.  
  
Kurt slid down to the ground, his back slumping heavily against the foot of one of the beds. His elbows dropped to his knees, and he buried his face in his hands.  
  
“Shit!” Blaine bellowed when it became clear that no amount of searching would erase the facts that were right in front of his face. “Shit,” he seethed again, kicking the TV cabinet and not even caring that his foot was bare and it hurt like a bitch. “I can't believe he – god, what is wrong with me? Why do I trust these assholes that just – I'll fucking kill him. I'll fucking kill him when I find him, and I swear to god, Kurt – I – Kurt?”  
  
Blaine turned to look at Kurt, who had folded in on himself entirely. His face was buried in his hands and his shoulders were shaking. Blaine's breath caught in his throat.  
  
“Kurt, are you okay?” Blaine asked warily, walking over to him, wincing against the pain in his toes.  
  
Kurt didn't answer.  
  
“Kurt, I'm so sorry,” Blaine said softly, crouching down beside him. “I just...I'm so sorry. I didn't – I wasn't – but it – it's okay.”  
  
Kurt raised his head slowly. His face was streaked with tears, and the look of defeat in his eyes made Blaine's gut twist miserably.  
  
“No, Blaine,” Kurt answered quietly, “it's not okay. It is definitely not okay. None of this is okay.”  
  
“N-none of it?” Blaine asked, swallowing hard. Because yeah, he had fucked up, but if he had managed to fuck everything up–  
  
Kurt squeezed Blaine’s hand and shook his head. “I don't mean that,” he assured him quickly. “I love you, I just – it's not – Blaine, I don't know what we're going to do. How are we going to – how are we going to do anything?” Kurt looked more than afraid. He looked resigned. He looked completely and utterly broken.  
  
Blaine studied him, feeling like a lost child without an adult to help him.  
  
But that was exactly the problem, wasn't it?  
  
Blaine wasn't a child, and it wasn't Kurt's job to take care of him. It wasn't anyone's job to take care of him. But they had fallen into it because it was familiar and it was easy for them both; Blaine was used  
to letting someone else call the shots, and Kurt hadn't had anyone to take care of him for a very long time.  
  
Blaine swallowed, raked a hand through his hair, and made a decision.  
  
“Kurt, it is going to be OK,” Blaine said firmly. “Just – just trust me, all right? Now we – we need to keep moving. Come on.” Blaine pulled on Kurt's arm, which continued to hang limply like dead weight while Kurt sobbed.  
  
Blaine sighed and stood up, stuffing his belongings back into his bag. He brushed a few crumbs off the Polaroid of himsef and Kurt before tucking it gently into the front pocket.  At least Puck had left him what meager possessions he still had left in the world.  
  
“Kurt, come on,” Blaine urged, slinging the bag over his shoulder and once again attempting to tug Kurt to his feet. When Kurt still wouldn't budge, Blaine knelt in front of him, lifting Kurt's chin and looking him square in the eye.  
  
“I need you to trust me, Kurt, can you do that?” Blaine asked.  
  
“It isn't a matter of–” Kurt began to protest weakly.  
  
“Can you do that?” Blaine asked, surprised by the force in his own voice.  
  
Kurt swallowed, and finally nodded in response. He let Blaine help him to his feet, his body still mostly limp, and allowed Blaine to lead him back to the room across the hall.  
  
Kurt's silent tears continued to flow as they packed, and Blaine had to touch his shoulder gently and urge him to keep moving a few times when he looked over to see Kurt, standing perfectly still, staring at the wall with a hollow expression on his face. They did end up showering together, but it was a decidedly less sexy affair than Blaine had hoped for. He cleaned Kurt's body and hair while Kurt clung to him, his tears mixing with the spray of the water as it washed them clean.  
  


**~000~**

  
Kurt barely noticed when Blaine pulled to a haphazard stop in a convenience store parking lot. He hadn't noticed much of what was happening around him, not since all hope had been sucked out of his life in a single, terrible moment.  
  
Because there was no way out now. He couldn't keep Blaine safe if he couldn't even get him to Canada.  
  
Kurt briefly wondered if he should just turn himself in already.  
  
It would be so easy; the prepaid phone was in Kurt's messenger bag in the backseat. But arguing with Blaine about it would take too much energy. Reaching back for the bag would take too much fucking energy. In fact, anything more than breathing and sitting sounded like an entirely exhausting prospect just then.  
  
Kurt stared straight ahead and had absolutely no idea what he was looking at.  
  
“Oooh. Can I borrow these?” Blaine asked, his voice so genuinely cheerful that Kurt felt even more energy drain from deep within his bones. He glanced over to Blaine, who was holding up Kurt's sunglasses. Blaine's hair was still wild, though much less so than earlier that morning,  his sleeveless black t-shirt clinging tight in all the right places and exposing the barest hint of chest hair. He hadn't bothered to shave that morning, so he was still lightly stubbled. Kurt was almost too exhausted to even notice how hot he looked.  
  
Almost. It wasn't like Kurt was dead, after all. At least not yet.  
  
Kurt nodded, because Blaine had asked him a question.  He knew he had taken far too long to respond, but he couldn't bring himself to care.  
  
“Thanks,” Blaine said with a smile, sliding the sunglasses onto his face. He pulled a cigarette from Kurt's pack and lit it, taking a long drag before grabbing Kurt's hand, pressing the cigarette between Kurt's middle and forefinger.  
  
“You want anything?” Blaine asked, exhaling a plume of smoke and adjusting  [the radio](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OagFIQMs1tw&feature=player_detailpage#t=53s) slightly.  
  
Kurt shook his head.  
  
“Okay. Be right back,” Blaine said, darting in to plant a kiss on Kurt's cheek. He hopped out over the side of the car and headed toward the store, his messenger bag swinging against his hip as he walked.  
  
Kurt sighed. They had half a tank of gas and $4.46 from the day before that had been left in Kurt's pocket. Everything else was gone. Everything. He was going to lose Blaine, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Absolutely nothing mattered.  
  
He glanced over to his arm, elbow propped on the side of the car, halfway surprised to find the cigarette between his fingers. He took a drag but all it did was make him even more nauseous than he already was. There were only four left in the pack. Kurt didn't care. He tossed the cigarette over the side of the car and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths.  
  
He needed to snap the fuck out of this. He had to do it for Blaine. If he wasn't strong, Blaine would have no one to protect him, and even if their hours were numbered at this point, Kurt needed to man up and make them hours that counted. Kurt opened his eyes and stared up at the open sky. Maybe he should fix his hair. That usually made him feel better. Maybe if he could summon the energy to grab his messenger bag, he could–  
  
“DRIVE, Kurt!”  
  
Kurt looked toward the source of the voice, his eyes going wide when he registered that Blaine was running toward the car – and not just running, but running as fast as he could, his messenger bag in one hand and a bulky paper shopping bag in the other.  
  
Kurt just stared at him, shocked and uncomprehending.  
  
“Drive!” Blaine repeated, panting. Kurt blinked. “Kurt! Drive the fucking car!” Blaine screamed. “DRIVE!”  
  
The desperation in Blaine's voice finally smashed through Kurt's wall of shock and confusion, snapping him into action. Kurt clambered across the center console and fired up the engine as Blaine tore across the last few feet separating him from the car and leapt over the side, landing in the passenger seat with his feet still hanging over the edge.  
  
“Go!” Blaine bellowed. “Go, go, go, go, go, go, go!”  
  
Adrenaline shot through Kurt's bloodstream as he shifted the car into gear and tried not to stall out as he peeled out of the parking lot. They tore down the road, Kurt's heart pounding, Blaine laughing hysterically beside him. “What happened?” Kurt asked when he finally regained the power of speech.  
  
Blaine barked out another laugh, and when Kurt looked over at him his eyes were impossibly wide, his pupils huge and bright. Blaine bit his lip against another fit of giggles as he reached into the paper bag and pulled out two enormous handfuls of cash.  
  
Kurt choked on air. “You robbed a store?” he demanded. “You robbed a fucking store?”  
  
“Well, we needed the money!” Blaine said, trying to pout but only managing to burst into another fit of laughter.  
  
Kurt opened his mouth to respond, but nothing would come out. He had no idea what should come out. “Blaine!” he finally managed to croak. “Holy fuck, Blaine, you can't just–”  
  
“Oh come on,” Blaine huffed. “It's not like I killed anybody!”  
  
Kurt narrowed his eyes at that. “Blaine.”  
  
“I'm sorry, Kurt,” Blaine said, sounding sincere even through his persistent giddiness. “It's just – we needed the money. Now we have it.”  
  
“Shit,” Kurt said, because it was all he could think of. “Oh, shit, Blaine, I just – shit!”  
  
Blaine rolled his eyes and grinned up at the sky. “Oh my god, will you stop being such a drama queen and just drive us to Canada already?”  
  
Kurt's heart was beating a hard staccato rhythm. “Shit – I just – oh my – I mean – how did you – what did you – what did you say?” he finally asked lamely.  
  
Blaine shrugged, lighting a cigarette. “Well, I just waltzed right in there and I said–”  
  


**~000~**

  
The footage Will had sent them was a bit grainy on Sandy's laptop, and they had to crowd in to all see it properly, but there was no mistaking the way Dave Karofsky's jaw dropped when his husband strode into the frame.  
  
Blaine looked different than he did in all the pictures Santana had seen. He looked rumpled and casual and unstyled (and frankly well-fucked, but that was strictly an off-the-record observation), and sunglasses were obscuring his eyes, but he still had the same five hundred–kilowatt smile she recognized from the photos when he stepped up to the cashier and calmly pulled a Jericho 940 out of his satchel.  
  
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, this is a robbery,” Blaine said warmly, projecting his voice nice and clear. He held the gun above his head. “Simon says, everyone get down on the floor!”  
  
The cashier and three of the other customers in the store got down quickly, but an older couple next to the chips stood frozen, both looking especially terrified.  
  
“All right, now let's see who will win a prize for keeping their cool,” Blaine continued, voice even and pleasant.   
  
This kid was a fucking born performer. Santana tried not to let any admiration show on her face.  
  
“Sir, can you get down, please?” Blaine asked politely, gesturing toward the man by the chips with his gun. “Ma'am, you too.” The couple quickly complied. “Thank you,” he said, sounding genuinely appreciative. He turned to the cashier. “Sir, would you do the honors?” he asked. “Just take all the cash out of that box and put it in a paper bag.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” the cashier replied, immediately following Blaine's orders.  
  
“Thank you. I really appreciate it. And now you'll have an amazing story to tell all your friends. And if not...well, you'll have a tag on your toe. You decide.” He smiled at the cashier as if it had simply been a harmless joke.  
  
“Ma'am, could you possibly quiet down, please?” Blaine asked one of the customers, who had began whimpering. She nodded and managed to quiet down a fair bit. “Sir, please stay down,” Blaine said again to the man by the chips. His wife quickly pulled him down, whispering harshly.  
  
“Thank you,” Blaine acknowledged. “Just stay there. Just get nice and comfortable.” Blaine turned his attention back to the cashier, who was putting the last of the cash into the bag. “Hey, could your throw a couple of bottles of Wild Turkey in with that too? And a carton of Camel Lights? And do you have any condoms?” Blaine’s tone was excited, as if he had just remembered that this store actually sold stuff  too.  
  
Dave made a loud choking noise at Blaine’s words, putting his coffee down on the table and coughing uncontrollably.  
  
The cashier added Blaine's requested items to the cash in the paper bag, and Blaine thanked him as he hefted the bag up, holding onto it tightly. “Can you get down on the ground now too, please?” he asked when the cashier was done.  
  
“Yes, sir,” the cashier responded as he lowered himself to the ground.  
  
“Thank you,” Blaine said when the cashier was properly on the floor. He began walking backwards, glancing over his shoulder a few times as he moved toward the door. “Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you all for your cooperation,” Blaine said. “Now stay down on the floor until I'm gone, and have a nice day.”  
  
And with that, Blaine Karofsky-Anderson turned and ran out the door and the footage ended.  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Dave growled.  
  
“Good god,” Sandy muttered, shaking his head.  
  
“Holy fucking hell,” Santana agreed, unable to tear her eyes away from the screen. **  
**


	13. Chapter 13

**Monday, 2:14pm – 5:12p.m.**

**Kentucky**

  
Blaine turned up [the radio](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r3kQlzOi27M) and took a swig from the fifth of Wild Turkey he'd picked up during the robbery. He still preferred the mini bottles, but cuteness simply hadn't seemed like a priority at the time. “Kurt, slow down,” he urged, eying the speedometer. “I'd just die if we got caught over a speeding ticket.”  
  
“I know,” Kurt muttered with a sigh, easing off on the gas slightly. “For the first time in my life I wish this car wasn't so fabulous. It's too noticeable.”  
  
“Are you...are you sure we should be driving like this right now? In broad daylight and everything?”  
  
Kurt took the bottle from Blaine's hand, taking a long pull before handing it back. “No, Blaine, we shouldn't,” he agreed. “But I want to put some distance between us and the scene of our last goddamned crime, okay?”  
  
Blaine let out a loud whoop of joy at that, and Kurt couldn't help but laugh; the look of pure elation on Blaine's face was too precious not to appreciate.  
  
“I'm starting to think you might actually be insane,” Kurt said, accepting a lit cigarette from Blaine's hand.  
  
Blaine grinned. “God, Kurt, you wouldn't have believed it. It was like I'd been doing it all my life.”  
  
“Well. Maybe you found your calling,” Kurt suggested.  
  
“I think I just may have,” Blaine agreed. “The call of the wild!”  
  
Blaine grabbed on to the top of the windshield, using it as leverage to pull his body up so that his head and shoulders rose above the glass. He let out a prolonged wolf-howl, the wind whipping through his curls and popping yet another button free on his shirt. Kurt felt his heart swoop as he beheld him, because Blaine was free and beautiful and his.  
  
Blaine looked down at Kurt with darkening eyes and a predatory smile. He dropped back down into his seat, leaning across the center console to nuzzle and nip at Kurt's neck.  
  
“Blaine...” Kurt admonished weakly, because he could hardly protest that safety should come first when he was drinking bourbon at the wheel and speeding away from an armed robbery.  
  
“God, Kurt, you're so – you set me free,” Blaine mumbled, and then began sucking on a particularly sensitive spot, his hand ghosting along Kurt's thigh to cup his groin.  
  
Kurt whimpered softly, forcing his eyes to remain open and focused on the road.  
  
“Hmmm,” Blaine murmured with a smile. “You're already completely hard.”  
  
“I–”  
  
“Does it turn you on? What I did?”  
  
“Hnngh–”  
  
“Did it?”  
  
“Yes,” Kurt croaked. “God, Blaine, you just – fuck, yes.”  
  
Blaine began slowly unbuckling Kurt's belt. “Can I?” he asked against Kurt's throat. “Please, Kurt, can I?”  
  
Kurt’s throat went dry, because everything about this was painfully sexy; the convertible and the landscape and [the music](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3YA3hZEDPNI) and Blaine, eyes sparkling with equal parts mischief and desire.   “Blaine, if I crash the car–” Kurt began to protest, but he lifted his hips, allowing Blaine to slide his jeans and boxer briefs down to his thighs.  
  
“You won't crash the car,” Blaine murmured, “I trust you.” He began lightly stroking Kurt's bare cock as he spoke, continuing to pepper tiny kisses across his neck. “Your dick is beautiful, by the way, have I told you that? I want to taste it. It's making my mouth water.”  
  
Kurt threw his cigarette over the side of the car. “Oh, fuck,” he whined, clutching the steering wheel as hard as he could with both hands.  
  
Blaine pressed one last kiss to the base of Kurt's throat before dropping his head down to Kurt's lap and tracing his tongue around the head of Kurt's cock. “Blaine,” Kurt groaned. “God, you look–”  
  
“Eyes on the road, Kurt,” Blaine admonished cheekily, before parting his lips and sinking them down all the way to the base of Kurt's cock.  
  
Kurt bit his lip so hard he was surprised it didn't start to bleed as Blaine's soft, plump lips drew up and down his shaft at a lazy pace, tongue flicking against Kurt in tiny kitten licks as he moved. He massaged Kurt's balls with one hand, using the other for leverage to keep himself propped above Kurt's lap, and Kurt nearly let his eyes roll shut at the overwhelming sharp pleasure of it all.  
  
“Blaine...too good...I can't...”  
  
Blaine hummed softly, and Kurt gave a gasping cry at the vibrations it sent coursing through him. It almost would have been easier to endure it if Blaine had just started sucking him fast and hard and dirty, but the slow burn of mellow ecstasy from Blaine's unhurried blowjob kept threatening to send Kurt into a trance.  
  
Kurt focused on breathing as Blaine slowly licked up and around Kurt's cock, as if he were painting a tight spiral with the tip of his tongue. He suckled the head, tracing his tongue around the smooth skin and under the ridge while he pumped Kurt firmly with his hand, and then engulfed him completely again, Blaine's soft throat relaxing and constricting around Kurt and making him wail into the open air.  
  
Kurt was very fucking grateful that he didn’t need to shift gears, and the traffic was sparse around them, but the fact remained that the top was down and someone could see them.  Kurt was shocked when the realization made him instinctively reach down and squeeze a tight handful of black curls. Kurt was pretty sure this was the hottest thing that had ever happened to him, or it was at least tied with watching Blaine fuck him in the mirror the night before.  
  
“Blaine, I'm so close,” Kurt panted, easing up on the gas pedal when he realized he'd increased their speed by about twenty miles an hour since Blaine had started sucking him off.   
  
Blaine responded by humming again, and Kurt screamed and slammed his palm against the steering wheel, accidentally hitting the horn and coming down Blaine's throat as it blared.  
  
Kurt's chest was heaving as Blaine pulled up, lips swollen and eyes wild. “You taste amazing,” he murmured, kissing Kurt's neck sloppily before leaning back into his seat and beginning to palm his own erection.  
  
“Pass me a cigarette, would you?” Kurt asked weakly. Blaine threw his head back and laughed.  
  


**~000~**

  
Santana smirked when the local detective handed custody of the perp over to her. She'd had a feeling this kid had something to do with Karofsky-Anderson's little stunt at the convenience store in Kentucky; the style was just too similar to be a coincidence. The fact that the jerk-off was busted driving a stolen car in Yonkers felt like Christmas in September.  
  
“Hey,” Karofsky said testily, fidgeting in his plastic seat in the waiting area. His eyes widened with irritation and disbelief when Santana continued past him, escorting Puckerman to an interrogation room. “Hey! Where the hell are you going? You going to make me sit here all day while you talk to every Tom, Dick and Harry around? Lopez? Damn it, Lopez, I know you can hear me!”  
  
“Don't let him leave,” Santana said to the officer that was standing guard, motioning to Dave. “And if his cell phone rings, I want you to interrupt us immediately.”  
  
Dave sputtered with indignation as Santana continued down the hallway, Ryerson on her heels.  
  
“Who's the asshole?” Puckerman asked, jerking his head back toward Karofsky.  
  
“That's Mr. Karofsky-Anderson's husband,” Santana answered, ushering Puckerman into the small room. “Sit.”  
  
“Well, shit twice and fall back in,” Puckerman muttered, throwing himself into a chair. “That fucking figures.”  
  
Santana sat down across the small wooden table from Puckerman, Sandy settling beside her.  
  
“Where did you get the $2500 in cash?” Sandy demanded without preamble. Santana raised an eyebrow at him, but turned to look at Puckerman and gauge his reaction to the question.  
  
“A friend,” Puckerman said evasively, not meeting either set of eyes across the table from him.  
  
“Interesting,” Santana replied. “The money clip it was in had 'Kurt Hummel' engraved on it. Would that be the friend?”  
  
“Ummm...hmmm. I believe that was the guy driving the car,” Puck answered, leaning back in his chair. “He did give me the money clip now that I think about it, yeah. Said he didn't want it anymore.”  
  
“Did he,” Santana responded tonelessly.  
  
“That he did,” Puckerman replied, one foot landing heavily on the table in front of him as he leaned back even further in his seat.  
  
Santana and Sandy exchanged glances.  
  
“Are you aware that Mr. Hummel and Mr. Karofsky-Anderson are wanted in connection with a murder?” Ryerson asked.  
  
Puckerman's smug bravado faltered slightly. “Murder? What, Blaine? Damn.”  
  
“Did they ever indicate that they might be on the run from the law?” Santana pressed.  
  
“Weeeeeell...you know, now that you mention it, they may have seemed a little bit jumpy. Hey, you think you could get me a cigarette or something, sweetheart? Maybe a cup of coffee?”  
  
Santana simply stared at Puckerman for a long moment. She leaned forward in her chair. “You know what?” she asked.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You're starting to irritate me.”  
  
“Yeah, me too,” Sandy said, narrowing his eyes and utterly failing to intimidate Puckerman.  
  
“Yeah, that'll happen,” Puckerman replied easily, stretching his arms and cupping his hands behind his head.  “You know, you two seem to have an awful lot in common. Maybe I should just step out of the room for a sec, let you have some private time.” He shot Santana a filthy wink.  
  
Santana glared at Puckerman. She was working up a pretty satisfying dislike for this man, and she didn't need Ryerson cramping her style.  
  
“I've got a better idea,” Santana said sweetly. “Can I speak to him alone for a minute?” She asked Sandy. He smiled at the request, because it was well known that Santana had a particular talent for breaking assholes like the one in front of them.  
  
“I'll just wait with Karofsky,” he said, as he got up to leave.  
  
When they were finally alone in the room, Santana fixed Puckerman with a deep, cold stare. When he began to fidget, she didn't even blink.  
  
“What?” he finally groused, crossing his arms over his chest. “What the hell did I do? Nothing, that's what. This whole thing is just a crock of shit.  Fucking pigs.”  
  
“All right,” Santana said, her eyes not wavering. “I'm going to ask you something.”  
  
Puckerman groaned. “For fuck's sa–”  
  
“Do you think Blaine Karofsky-Anderson would have committed armed robbery if you hadn't taken all their money?” Santana cut in sharply, standing up and pinning Puckerman in place with her eyes.  
  
Puckerman swallowed, something almost like guilt flitting across his face.  
  
“Get your foot off that table,” Santana commanded, her voice low and terrifying.  
  
Puckerman slid his foot to the floor silently.  
  
“Cat got your tongue?” Santana asked.  
  
“No,” Puckerman defended sullenly. “Now, I...how do you know I took it? How do you know they didn't–”  
  
But that was it. That was just fucking it, and Santana did not have the patience for this shit, did not have the patience for waste-of-space punks like Puckerman who were only good for clogging up the legal system and making life harder for people that didn't deserve it.  
  
Santana strode over to Puckerman and ripped the dirty, ugly, fucking White Sox baseball cap from his head, and smacked him with it. When Puckerman yelped, she did it again. And again. It felt so good that she just kept on smacking him with the bill of the hat until he threw his hands up in front of his face defensively.  
  
“Don't you fucking lie to me,” Santana hissed, leaning in close and throwing the baseball cap to the floor.  “There's two boys out there that had a chance. They had a chance. And now you've completely fucked it up for them.”  
  
“No, I–” Puckerman protested weakly.  
  
“And now they're in some serious trouble, and I'm going to hold you personally responsible for at least part of it if anything happens to them,” Santana continued. “I don't give a shit about you. You're just some asshole with a chip on his shoulder who's still confused that high school ended. As far as I'm concerned you're nothing, understand?”  
  
Puckerman stared at her, anger battling with fear in his eyes. Santana knew exactly which emotion was going to win, because this asshole was fucking bush league, and she'd crushed better men waiting in line at the grocery store.  
  
“Now,” she said, very quiet, her voice almost no more than a disgusted whisper in his ear, “you're going to tell me everything – everything – you know, so there's a small chance I can actually do them some good, or I am going to dedicate the rest of my life to causing you as much misery as possible. And don't you dare fucking doubt me on this one, asswipe, because I've made scumbags like you disappear before, and I've got surprisingly little left to lose.”  
  
“Y-yes, Ma'am,” Puckerman managed, his eyes wide and his voice a hoarse whisper.  
  
“I'm sorry, what was that?” Santana asked, standing up.  
  
“Yes, ma'am,” Puckerman repeated loudly.  
  
Santana smiled. “That's better. We understand each other, then?”  
  
Puckerman swallowed audibly. “Yeah.”  
  
“Okay,” Santana said. “Now why don't you start by telling me how it is that you found yourself in Kurt Hummel's car in the first place.”  
  


**~000~**

  
After getting what she needed from Puckerman – for the time being anyway – Santana escorted him out of the interrogation room, allowing a local officer to take custody of him and begin leading him toward a holding cell.  
  
“Mr. Karofsky, if you'd just hold on another couple of minutes, I'm going to wrap some things up here and then we'll bring you back home,” Santana said distractedly, thumbing through her phone. She was starting to have an idea, and she was fairly certain it was a really, really bad one.  
  
She glanced up just in time to see Puckerman lean toward Karofsky with a filthy smile on his way past.  
  
“I liked your husband,” he said with a wink. “And so did Hummel, if you get my drift.” Puckerman wagged his eyebrows, laughing when Karofsky's face twisted into a mask of pure rage.  
  
As Puckerman was led further down the hallway, Karofsky leapt to his feet, barreling toward Puckerman with a roar. Ryerson and another of the local officers immediately moved to hold him back, but Karofsky was a very large man.  
  
“Come back here!” Dave bellowed, as yet another officer moved to restrain him.  
  
“You know, they fucked so hard one of the pictures fell off my wall and I was in the room across the hall from them,” Puck called over his shoulder, still laughing. “Sounded like Blaine hadn't had a fuck that good in years, and looking at you I believe it.”  
  
“You little – I will kill you, you fucking punk!” Dave screamed, trying desperately to break through the wall of police officers holding him back. “I will fucking destroy you, you goddamned little – just wait until I introduce you to the fury! You get back here! I will fucking kill you!”  
  
Puck's laughter rang through the halls as he was escorted around the corner and out of sight.


	14. Chapter 14

**Monday, 4:30p.m. - 8:02p.m.**

**Kentucky and Indiana**

  
It took a few hours for the intense rush of everything to mellow into something manageable, but [the songs on the radio](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=54IN3URGuM8) grew slower and the stretches between conversation became longer and a measure of calm became inevitable.  
  
The robbery had changed absolutely everything. But so had the fact that they had money now – only just shy of $600, true – but it would be enough to at least get them to the border. And now they were together, outside of frenzied passion and near-catatonic fear. They were together, and Blaine was leaving Dave, really leaving Dave to be with Kurt and start some mystery of a new life together if they could manage to avoid getting arrested or killed.  
  
And forty-eight hours earlier Kurt had been serving drinks at Songbirds and hoping that Dave would let Blaine leave the city for a few days.  
  
Blaine glanced over at Kurt shyly, which would have made Kurt laugh, given the fact that Blaine's face had been in his lap just a few hours earlier, if he hadn't been looking back with a similar expression on his own face.  
  
“Come here,” Kurt said quietly, taking his right hand off the steering wheel and lifting his arm so that he could wrap it around Blaine's shoulders. Blaine ducked and smiled, his cheeks beautifully scarlet.  
  
“Okay,” he agreed, leaning over and resting his head on Kurt's shoulder.  
  
“This is still kind of weird,” Blaine said after a moment.  
  
“Oh?” Kurt asked nervously.  
  
“Yeah. Not in a bad way, god, but – I never thought you'd go for someone like me.”  
  
“What do you mean, someone like you?”  
  
Blaine sighed. “I don't know. Someone...boring? Insecure? Clingy?”  
  
Kurt tightened his arm around Blaine. “Oh my god, Blaine, you are none of those things. Well, insecure, maybe, but that just makes you more real. You're exactly my type. You're sweet and kind and funny and thoughtful and strong.”  
  
“I am not str–”  
  
“Shut up, Blaine, don't you dare insult my taste in men. You also happen to be devastatingly sexy, in case you still haven't figured that out.”  
  
Blaine tilted his head to place a kiss on Kurt's shoulder. “So are you, you know.”  
  
Kurt hummed. “I suppose. But I honestly never thought I'd be your type.”  
  
“What? Kurt, that's insane.”  
  
“Is it?” Kurt asked, raising his eyebrows. “Look at my bases for comparison: Dave, Puck, that guy Jeremy that you hooked up with freshman year–”  
  
“None of those guys could hold a candle to you, Kurt,” Blaine said vehemently.  
  
Kurt grinned. “Well. Perhaps not. But I thought you only liked big, muscle-bound, straight-acting jocks. You can't blame me for thinking you wouldn't be interested in me.”  
  
Blaine frowned. “You knew I was attracted to you, though. You had to know that.”  
  
“I did.  In college, anyway, I did...I just suppose I didn't think I was the kind of guy you would...you know...” Kurt trailed off.  
  
“What, Kurt?” Blaine prodded gently.  
  
“I just didn't think I was the kind of guy you'd want to bring home to your parents. You know how your father is about gay men that flaunt their sexuality, after all.”  
  
Blaine was silent for a moment. “I wish I could say you were completely wrong,” he finally said, his voice soft and sad. “And honestly, if I'd known that being with you was really a viable option I would have happily told my dad to fuck off if it meant I could be with you. But...god, they were so happy when I brought Dave home, you know? It's like the next best thing to a straight son was a son who could at least pass for straight, and I just...” Blaine sighed. “It was the first time I ever really felt like he was proud of me. Like he might really be okay with me. I...I used to wonder if that was the real reason I got married to Dave in the end.”  
  
“Was it?” Kurt asked, rubbing his hand softly up and down Blaine's bicep.  
  
“That was definitely at least part of it. God, Kurt, why do you even want me? I'm a mess.”  
  
“You're the best mess I've ever seen,” Kurt murmured. Blaine laughed softly and cuddled up closer to Kurt.  
  
The blare of a deafening horn made them both jolt. Blaine looked up to see an 18-wheeler just ahead of them. The driver reached his hand out and waved for them to pass.  
  
“Oh, thank god,” Kurt muttered. “I thought we were going to be stuck behind that guy forever.”  
  
“See, Kurt?” Blaine chided. “You don't give people enough credit. He's being really gracious.”  
  
Kurt rolled his eyes but didn't argue, managing to move his arm to shift gears without disrupting Blaine’s head on his shoulder.   
  
“Hey!” The driver called out as they passed him. He was sporting a ginger mullet and a short but ill-kept beard, and was looking down at them with something very much like disgust.  
  
“You ladies want to keep that shit to the bedroom?” The man yelled at them. “There are people with kids on these roads, you know!”  
  
Blaine stared up at the man incredulously, rage stirring in his gut.  
  
“Just ignore him,” Kurt muttered, looking resolutely ahead as he sped up. The truck sped up as well to remain abreast of them.  
  
“I ought to do the world a favor, run you fags off the road!” The man spat, and yeah, his words were definitely a bit slurred. Kurt gripped the steering wheel tightly. A thin guardrail separated the Camaro from a steep, rocky cliff, and this man definitely seemed both drunk and crazy enough to do exactly what he was threatening to do.  
  
“You are a horrible person!” Blaine yelled up at him as Kurt swerved, avoiding the truck as it swayed dangerously close to them.  
  
“Don't pretend you're not gagging for it, pervert!” The man yelled, as Kurt navigated them past the truck, the driver blaring his horn behind them.  His insults slowly faded as Kurt put as much distance as possible between them.  
  
“What the fuck was his problem?” Blaine raged. “We weren't even doing anything, not that it should have mattered if we were. What does he think is going to happen if some kids see you with your fucking arm around me?”  
  
“I know,” Kurt said calmly. “But...don't yell at guys like that, Blaine, it isn't safe.”  
  
Blaine laughed bitterly. “Kurt, have you actually been here the past couple of days, or was that just a very convincing stunt double? Nothing we're doing is safe!”  
  
“I know, Blaine,” Kurt snapped. “But I just...” Kurt sighed, his voice softening considerably. “If we end up run off the road by some angry, drunken redneck homophobe, then what's the point of all this? What's the point of even trying?”  
  
“Kurt...” Blaine said, pulling Kurt's arm back around him. “I just...I can't stand someone being that disgusted with the most beautiful thing that's ever happened to me. Not now. Not today.”  
  
“Blaine,” Kurt replied gently, “I didn't like hearing it either, but he's just some pathetic neanderthal. He can't touch us or what we have, okay? No one can.”  
  
Blaine reached his hand up to lace his fingers together with Kurt's. “I'm so lucky that you love me,” he murmured.  
  
“You're not the only lucky one,” Kurt responded, pressing a kiss into Blaine's curls.  
  


**~000~**

  
“Thank god you packed an entire pharmacy worth of personal hygiene products,” Blaine muttered, accepting another pre-moistened towelette from Kurt as they both attempted to freshen up under the dim lights of a dingy rest stop bathroom. They had decided that another motel simply wasn't worth the money or the risk, making this the closest thing to a nighttime skincare routine that either of them could manage.  
  
“Thank you,” Kurt said, tossing a toner-soaked cotton ball into the trash and opening a small tub of moisturizer. “Now you never get to make fun of me for it again.”  
  
“I don't make fun,” Blaine defended with a pout. “I...tease. With love.”  
  
Kurt smiled, catching Blaine's eye in the mirror. “I know,” he said with a fond smile.  
  
Blaine leaned in and kissed Kurt, his skin smelling of toner and faded sunscreen.  
  
“Blaine, I think you should call Dave,” Kurt murmured against his lips.  
  
Blaine pulled back sharply, fixing Kurt with a horrified look. “What? Why? I told you, Kurt, I'm not leaving you. I have nothing left to say to that man.”  
  
“I just want you to find out if he knows anything,” Kurt explained calmly. “If he does, you need to hang up as soon as possible. Because if he knows anything, that means the police have told him what's happening and they're planning to trace the call.”  
  
“Trace the call? Kurt, it's a prepaid phone,” Blaine protested, watching Kurt smooth rosemary-scented lotion across his face.  
  
“You think an untraceable phone exists, Blaine?” Kurt asked, finishing up in front of the mirror and gathering his toiletries into a cloth pouch. “We're talking about armed robbery and murder one, here. I think it's a good idea to find out exactly how much trouble we're in.”  
  
“Murder one? We can't even say it was self defense?” Blaine asked incredulously as they headed back toward the car.  
  
“Well, it wasn't,” Kurt reminded him. “We were walking away.”  
  
“But they don't need to know that!” Blaine protested. “It was just you and me there. I'll say...I'll say he raped me and you had to shoot him. I mean, that really is almost the truth, Kurt.”  
  
“It won't work,” Kurt said firmly, shaking his head.  
  
“Why not? If we just say–”  
  
“Because there's no physical evidence,” Kurt interrupted. We can't prove that he did it. By now, we probably can't even prove that he touched you at all.”  
  
Blaine swallowed. “I...wow. I hadn't even thought of that.” Blaine tried to ignore the jolt of panic that was racing through him. He had known it would be bad if they got caught, but he hadn't allowed himself to realize just how bad. If they got life in prison, there was no way anyone would let them share a cell. And that would only be if they got life instead of the death penalty.  
  
No. Getting caught was absolutely not an option.  
  
“How do you know so much about this anyway?” Blaine asked, looking at Kurt curiously.  
  
“Besides, how are we going to explain the robbery?” Kurt continued, ignoring Blaine's question. “There's no such thing as justifiable robbery.”  
  
Blaine rolled his eyes. “Okay, Kurt. But we needed the money. What else were we going to do?”  
  
“I'm not complaining, Blaine, I'm just saying it complicates things.”  
  
Kurt placed his bag of toiletries in the backseat and pulled the phone out of his messenger bag.  
  
“All right, now if you think he knows, if you even have the slightest suspicion, I want you to hang up,” Kurt said, holding the phone out to Blaine.  
  
“I know, I know,” Blaine answered with a sigh, eying the phone with distaste. “Well, here goes nothing, I suppose.”  
  
Blaine chewed on his lip as the phone began to ring, hoping very much that it would go directly to voicemail so he could avoid the confrontation entirely.  
  
“Hello?” came Dave's voice, his tone unreadable.  
  
“Dave, it's me,” Blaine said.  
  
“Blaine! Baby, I'm so happy to hear from you!” Dave exclaimed, his voice hearty and warm.  
  
Blaine disconnected the call. “He knows,” he said, turning to Kurt.  
  
“Shit!” Kurt hissed, kicking a rock across the dirt parking lot.  
  


**~000~**

  
“I need more time,” Sandy said, looking up from his laptop.  
  
Santana glared at Dave pointedly, her arms folded across her chest.  
  
“What?” Dave demanded. “All I said was hello!”  
  
Santana sighed and rubbed her temples, fighting off her growing headache. She was about to share some precisely worded thoughts about just how badly Mr. David Karofsky had fucked things up for them, when his phone rang again.  
  
“Hello?” Dave answered quickly on the first ring.  
  
“Dave, it's Kurt. Let me talk to the police.”  
  
“Kurt, hi!” Dave enthused.  
  
“Let me speak with the police, Dave,” Kurt repeated, enunciating each word carefully.  
  
“What – uh, what are you talking about? There are no police here,” Dave said, trying and failing to convey shock at the mere idea . “Hey – where are you boys, anyway?” He asked, smiling at Santana slyly and shooting her a conspiratorial wink.  
  
“Dave, will you just let me speak to whoever's in charge there? Please?” The irritation was rising in Kurt's voice.  
  
“How do you know there–”  
  
Dave was cut short as Santana reached out and snatched the phone from his hand.  
  
“Hello, Mr. Hummel? I'm investigator Santana Lopez, Pennsylvania state police. How are you?” Santana asked breezily.  
  
“Well, I've been better,” Kurt answered with a small, bitter laugh, as he began pacing around the small dirt parking lot.  
  
“I really hope you boys are being careful with that gun,” she said, because she'd been wanting to say it for at least twenty-four hours.  
  
“Yes, ma'am, I know,” Kurt replied softly.  
  
“You two are in some hot water, but I imagine you already figured that out. Are you both OK? Neither one of you are hurt?”  
  
“Yes, we're fine,” Kurt said. “We're both....” he paused, his eyes lingering on the bruises still visible on Blaine's face. “We're both fine,” he forced himself to finish.  
  
Blaine gave Kurt a small, tentative smile from where he sat perched on the hood of the car, and lit a cigarette. It was still so strange to see Blaine smoke. When we get to Canada I'm quitting, Kurt thought. When we get to Canada we're both going chem-free and getting lots of fucking therapy.  
  
Kurt paused in front of Blaine and leaned in, taking a deep drag from between Blaine's fingers. Because they sure as shit weren't in Canada yet.  
  
“Well, I'm glad that you're both all right. You want to tell me what happened?” Santana asked briskly.  
  
“Sure, over coffee sometime,” Kurt said, taking another drag when Blaine held the cigarette out to him. “I'll buy.”  
  
“I want you to know, neither one of you are charged with murder yet,” Santana told Kurt, as she began pacing around Dave's living room. “You're just still wanted for questioning. Although now, Mr. Karofsky-Anderson is wanted in Kentucky for armed robbery.”  
  
Kurt paused his pacing, giving Blaine a pointed look. Accurately guessing what Kurt was being told, Blaine suppressed a smirk.  
  
“No kidding. Look, we've got to go. I'll call you back, all right?”  
  
Sandy motioned frantically for Santana to keep Kurt on the line. “Mr. Hummel, I don't think you two are going to make it to Canada,” Santana said abruptly.  
  
Kurt came to a complete stop, almost dropping the phone.  
  
“We should talk,” Santana continued. “Please,” she added, an edge of desperation in her voice, “I want to help you.”  
  
Kurt disconnected the call quickly.  
  
“Shit,” Kurt muttered. “Shit. That Puck is a little shit!”  
  
Blaine eyed Kurt uneasily. “What? Kurt, what is it?”  
  
Kurt walked over to the car and stood in front of Blaine, who was still sitting on the hood.  
  
“Blaine, I'm not...I'm not angry at you, okay?” Kurt began, taking Blaine's hand. “I just want you to answer something for me.”  
  
“OK,” Blaine said, watching Kurt cautiously.  
  
“Do you have any idea how they might have known we're going to Canada? You didn't – you didn't tell that thieving little opportunistic bitch where we were going, did you?”  
  
Blaine cleared his throat and glanced away before steeling himself to meet Kurt's eyes. “I...um...I'm not sure I believe you about not being angry with me.”  
  
Kurt sighed. “Fine. I'm angry. Blaine, how could you?”  
  
Blaine's gaze fell to his feet. “I just...I just asked him if he'd ever been, if he maybe had any advice about where to go – I didn't tell him, I didn't think–”  
  
“No, Blaine, you didn't think,” Kurt agreed, fighting the burning desire to have a proper meltdown about this. “Fuck!”  
  
“Kurt, I'm sorry,” Blaine said miserably, his head hanging.  
  
Kurt slid onto the hood of the car beside Blaine, letting go of Blaine's hand just long enough to cuddle him close.  
  
“Blaine, it's just – up until now, we had two things going for us; No one knew where we were and no one knew where we're going. Now one of those things is gone, and that's going to make everything a lot more difficult. You just – I know you didn't mean to, I get that, and I love how you still always seem to see the best in everyone despite everything you've been through, but you just – you need to really think before you talk to people. You need to stop being so open, all right? We're fugitives now. We've got to start acting like it.”  
  
Blaine nodded emphatically in agreement. “You're right. You are completely, one hundred percent right.”  
  
Kurt couldn't help but crack a smile at that. “I love you, Blaine. We're in this together until the end, OK? I just – I don't want the end to be either of us dead or behind bars. If anything happened to you–”  
  
'I know,” Blaine murmured, pulling Kurt closer. “I'm sorry.”  Kurt gave him a gentle squeeze and a kiss on his cheek.  
  
They sat on the hood of the car together and waited for the sun to finish setting. **  
**


	15. Chapter 15

**Monday, 10:10p.m. - Tuesday, 7:39a.m.**

**Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin**

  
“What?” Kurt asked, looking over at Blaine with a smile. Blaine was giggling against the neck of his bottle of Wild Turkey, his features delicately outlined by the light of the full moon.  
  
“Nothing, it's just – nothing,” he said, but continued to laugh.  
  
“What?” Kurt insisted, his smile widening.  
  
“Nothing, it's just – Sebastian.”  
  
Kurt's smile collapsed and his posture went rigid. “What about him?” he asked flatly.  
  
Blaine threw his head back, laughing even harder. “Just – the look on his face when – he sure wasn't expecting that. Just – 'suck my cock.' And then...Boom!” Blaine pantomimed shooting a gun, bursting into a fresh round of slightly hysterical giggles.  
  
“Blaine, it's not funny,” Kurt said quietly.  
  
“I know....” Blaine answered, his voice still shaking with a quality of laughter that sounded like it was beginning to devolve into tears. “I...I know.”  
  
Kurt stared straight ahead as Blaine's giggle-sobs slowed to a stop. Blaine wiped his cheeks and took a few deep breaths, trying to figure out what the hell he was feeling through the haze of Wild Turkey and violent memories.  
  
“It happened to you, didn't it?” he asked after a moment, giving voice to the suspicion that had been growing in his gut since the shooting.  
  
“What are you talking about?” Kurt asked tightly, seeming to draw away from Blaine and curl into himself without so much as moving a muscle. Blaine swallowed. He shouldn't press. Kurt clearly didn't want to talk about this, but–  
  
But. Blaine couldn't seem to stop himself, and he was burning with the need to know; to know if Kurt really understood what Blaine was feeling in the way that Blaine thought he did.  
  
“That's – that's what happened, isn't it? In Ohio? You...you were raped?”  
  
Kurt let out a shuddering breath that ended in a tiny whimper. He slowed the car to a stop, the idling of the engine almost startlingly loud in the yawning silence around them.  
  
Blaine's eyes widened and his heart clenched when Kurt dropped his head onto his hands on the steering wheel, letting out a single muffled sob.  
  
“Blaine, I – I can't,” he pleaded, his voice like an open wound.  
  
“Kurt...” Blaine whispered, both desperate and terrified to touch him.  
  
“I...” Kurt lifted his head slowly and turned to look at Blaine. He inhaled deeply and then opened his mouth as if to speak, but his lips trembled violently and he dissolved completely into tears.  
  
Blaine swallowed his fear and hesitation and pulled Kurt into his arms, holding him tightly and rocking him gently.  
  
“I just can't...don't make me...please, Blaine, I can't,” Kurt pleaded between sobs.  
  
“Okay,” Blaine murmured, stroking Kurt's back. “It's okay. I won't – it's okay.”  
  


**~000~**

  
Kurt looked out across the sweep of Midwestern plains before him, earnest and unconsciously beautiful in the thin, building light of the morning to come. The sun would be rising soon, and he should really get back to the car, but Kurt breathed deep and wrapped his arms around himself and allowed himself to simply look and think and feel.  
  
Blaine was still in the car, and Kurt could hear [the radio](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ejorQVy3m8E&feature=player_detailpage#t=0s) continuing to play from where he stood.  Blaine was curled up in the passenger seat fast asleep with a small plaid blanket tucked around him. Kurt had brought the blanket for picnics, and he felt a strange swoop in his chest at the notion of he and Blaine having a picnic lunch together, happy and easy and utterly unburdened by the world of shit their lives had become.  
  
Well. Maybe world of shit was a slight exaggeration. If things were that bad, he wouldn't have Blaine. He wouldn't have hope.  
  
Kurt hugged himself tighter against the chill of the night air. He should have brought a cardigan with him or something, but initially he had just pulled over to pee. But that had been before he realized that he was standing on a precipice, and that it felt like he was standing on top of the world.  
  
It had been so long since Kurt was in this part of the country. He had honestly never imagined he would come back. After what had happened, his family had strictly come to visit him in New York. Kurt realized with a pang that Carole and Finn would be planning to come and stay with him again that year for Christmas – Thanksgiving too, if they could manage it. But that was all over now. No matter what happened, Kurt was reasonably confident that he would never see them again.  
  
Kurt bit his lip. He could call, but it was entirely likely that their phones could be tapped by now. And how could he explain any of this? How could he endure the fear and confusion in Finn's voice, the sheer pain in Carole's? After what he'd already put them through...  
  
Kurt focused on his breathing, pulling himself away from the edge of panic at the mere thought. Of course Blaine had figured it out; Blaine knew Kurt better than he knew himself. But holy fuck did Kurt wish that this was one particular experience that they did not have in common.  
  
Of course no one had believed Kurt. Even Finn – Finn! – had given him a cautiously skeptical look and said, “a-are you sure, dude? I mean, you did have a lot to drink, and you were kind of all over him last night...”  
  
Finn had stammered and apologized and actually cried at the way Kurt crumbled in response, and in the end Finn was so supportive that it nearly broke Kurt's heart, but still. That look. That doubt. Even Finn.  
  
Kurt never wanted Blaine to have the experience of anyone looking at him that way. Never wanted Blaine to experience the cold, clinical probing of the medical examination or the way the lawyers and police officers and the jury and judge and strangers at the fucking gas station had looked at Kurt, the doubt layered with judgment and disgust.  
  
He didn't want anyone telling Blaine that he had ruined the life of his rapist, and at least that motherfucker Sebastian was dead, because Kurt certainly didn't want Blaine to come face-to-face with the man in the grocery store, the guy screaming into his stunned face about what a piece of shit he was for outing him like that.  
  
Kurt took another deep, steadying breath. No. He couldn't think about it. That had all happened years ago, and rehashing it wasn't going to help Blaine at all. Kurt frankly didn't understand how Blaine was keeping it together so well in the first place, though he had a sneaking suspicion that once their lives settled into whatever new version of normal they were headed toward, Blaine's ability to cope might decrease significantly.  
  
But even when that happened, Blaine wouldn't be alone. And no one would look at him the way they had looked at Kurt. Kurt would make sure of it.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Kurt turned to see Blaine approaching, still wrapped in the blanket and scruffy with sleep. Kurt couldn't help but smile, warmth rising in his chest a the sight.  
  
“You okay?” Blaine asked when he reached Kurt.  
  
“Yeah,” Kurt replied. “Yeah, I'm great.”  
  
“What's up?”  
  
Kurt shrugged. “Nothing. Just...just thinking.”  
  
Blaine reached for Kurt and Kurt let himself sink into the embrace, into the warmth of Blaine's body and the blanket that Blaine was extending to envelope Kurt's shoulders as well.  
  
“I'm sorry...about before,” Blaine said, still holding Kurt close.. “I just...I don't even know what to do with....with...when I remember, it's just...all I can...It's like...” Blaine huffed an irritable sigh, apparently frustrated at his own inability to articulate what he wanted to say.  
  
“I know,” Kurt answered simply. “I understand.”  
  
“I wish you didn't, though.” Blaine's voice was thick.  
  
“I wish neither one of us had to,” Kurt agreed, wrapping his arms even more tightly around Blaine.  
  
Blaine hesitated. “Will you...will you tell me about it someday?” he ventured nervously. “I don't mean anytime soon, just...someday?”  
  
“Someday you'll know all there is to know about me, Blaine.” Kurt tilted his head to rest on Blaine's shoulder. “You'll know me so well you'll be bored half to death.”  
  
“I don't think I could ever find you boring,” Blaine said, reverence clear in his voice. Kurt lifted his head to look at Blaine and smile, and then kissed his lips before pulling away so that they stood side by side, slipping Blaine's hand into his own.  
  
“My god, this is beautiful,” Blaine said with soft awe as he looked out over the plains.  
  
“It surely is,” Kurt replied, but he wasn't looking at the scenery. Blaine blushed when he felt Kurt's eyes on him.  
  
“Mr. Hummel, are you trying to seduce me?” Blaine asked, eyes dancing.  
  
Kurt chuckled softly. “And here I thought that I already had.”  
  
“You definitely have,” Blaine answered with a smile. Kurt squeezed his hand.  
  
“I always wanted to see more of the country,” Blaine mused, turning look back at the view spread before them. “I just never really had the opportunity.”  
  
“Well, you've got it now.” Kurt's voice was edged in melancholy. “Enjoy it while you can.”  
  
Blaine looked at him.  “We're going to make it, Kurt,” he said fiercely. “I can just tell. We're going to make it.”  
  
Kurt swallowed, searching Blaine's face. It was true that he never wanted anyone to look at Blaine the way they had looked at Kurt. The thing was, it wasn't his life and it wasn't his choice to make. And before they went further, before they fell too deep into talk of the future and leaving the country forever and making it, Kurt needed to know that this was really and truly Blaine's honest choice.  
  
“Are you – it still isn't too late to get on a bus in Indiana, Blaine. I mean, armed robbery isn't good, but it is your first offense and you won't end up behind bars forever – you can even say that I forced you to–”  
  
“Kurt,” Blaine interrupted impatiently.  
  
“I just...I would die if anything happened to you, Blaine.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“I'm asking you to leave your whole life behind. Your family, your career–”  
  
Blaine shook his head, staring at Kurt with absolute conviction. “I'd rather lose all that than lose you, though,” he answered. “The only thing I can't live without is the way you make me feel.”  
  
Kurt fought the tears welling up in his eyes, because this was all too terrifying and wonderful and overwhelming to possibly be real.  
  


**~000~**

  
Goosebumps popped up across their skin as layers were shed, but before long they were both soothed by the heat of warm bodies pressed together, the blanket soft beneath them, the brush around them releasing a tender, verdant fragrance as it rustled in the breeze.  
  
They made love slowly, gently, the [music](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PDbPrOuXq2s) from the car radio almost seeming to grow louder and clearer against their heavy breathing. Blaine's untamed curls were framed by the golden-pink light of the rising sun behind him as he looked down at Kurt. He looked earthy and primal and cherubic and otherworldly all at once. He touched Kurt like he was a priceless treasure, and there was no word for the look in his eyes, none at all – awe and love and lust and yearning and trust and acceptance fused together, and all of it completely unconditional.  
  
“You're gor–” Kurt started to pant, but paused when Blaine flinched and went still. “Oh. I – what is it?”  
  
Blaine released a heavy breath and looked into Kurt's eyes like he was forcing himself not to look away.  
  
“I just – I – could you maybe not call me g-gorgeous? I just–”  
  
“Okay,” Kurt cut in quickly, because Blaine may have preferred that Kurt didn't understand, but the simple fact was that he did. There were words and gestures, buried in the world like landmines waiting to go off, that would make Blaine flinch and shudder and rage and cry. And it would probably be happening for a long time to come.  
  
Kurt took half a second to hate Sebastian just a little bit more for taking gorgeous away from him. Because god, what better word was there to describe the man in his arms?  
  
Kurt brushed a gentle hand across Blaine's cheek and kissed his lips softly. “Can I call you beautiful?” he asked. Blaine nodded and Kurt kissed him again and began rocking his hips slightly, experimentally. “How about lovely?”  
  
“Yeah,” Blaine breathed, moving with Kurt, tension dissolving into languorous pleasure. Kurt kissed him again.  
  
“Breathtaking?”  
  
Blaine whimpered in affirmation, crushing their lips together and wrapping his arms around Kurt’s waist.  He pulled Kurt with him as he settled back on his knees, Kurt coming to rest in his lap. Kurt let out a deep groan as he settled into the new position, Blaine impossibly deep inside of him.  
  
“Exquisite,” Kurt managed, panting harsh and ragged against Blaine's lips.  
  
“You're exquisite,” Blaine returned, their mouths fusing together once again.  
  
They moved together beautifully, methodically, wrapped up tight and soaked in pleasure and never, ever quite close enough. They gasped with every thrust and roll of hips and change in angle, and when they finally came it was almost simultaneous, clutching each other tight as they rode it out beneath the spread of a watercolor sky.  
  


**~000~**

  
“If this isn't one of eighteen hand-selected people that are rightfully in possession of this number, you should know that I have full clearance to waterboard anyone I want to as I see fit.”  
  
Santana rubbed her temple and sighed into the phone. “Sue, it's me.”  
  
“Why, if it isn't Boobs McGhee. I was wondering when I'd be hearing from you again.”  
  
“Sue, I – I need a favor. More than one, actually. And they're...kind of big ones.”  
  
“Well, I figured,” Sue replied, sounding much less smug than Santana had anticipated. “Otherwise you wouldn't be calling me from some random McCell phone you probably bought from a homeless person outside a Wal-mart. Now what can I do for my best agent?”  
  
“Ex-agent, Sue, remember?” Santana asked tightly. “I'm with the Pennsylvania PD now.”  
  
Sue snorted. “You still going along with that crap? Forget that dog-and-pony show. Come back to us.”  
  
“I, uh...I don't think ethics violations are the sort of thing the Bureau will look past,” Santana muttered. “I'm lucky to have a job at all.”  
  
“So you say,” Sue said, sounding thoroughly unconvinced. “I violate ethics every day. Why, just this morning I waterboarded some snot-nosed kid for picking on my daughter at school. The difference between you and me, Jugs, is that I know how to avoid getting caught. And if you really want back in on the Bureau, I'm sure I can make it happen. Technically you did resign, you know; you weren't fired. But you don't want back in, do you?”  
  
Santana didn't answer right away, but thankfully Sue allowed her a few moments of quiet to gather her thoughts. “Sue, I don't know if I can do this anymore,” she finally blurted, surprising herself.  
  
“What? Find enough skin to stretch over your increasingly ridiculous rack?”  
  
“Follow the letter of the law like a lemming, when I know–”  
  
“Santana.” Santana stopped short at the actual use of her name. “You're threatening to bore me with your lack of snark. What do you need?”  
  
“Um. How...how difficult is it to manipulate the results of a google search?” Santana asked, chewing on her thumb nail, because – fuck – she was really doing this, wasn't she?  
  
“Please,” Sue scoffed. “I could do that with one hand while simultaneously reading Fountainhead and waterboarding a terrorist with the other. Is that all?”  
  
Santana swallowed. “Um, no, but that's good. That's...that's excellent.”  
  
“What else?” Sue asked, and Santana could have sworn that there was a touch of actual softness in the woman's voice. “I told you you could come to me for anything, Sandbags. The number of people I've extended that offer to could fit in the basement compartment of a sealed-off elevator shaft. Now what else can I do for you?”  
  
“Okay.” Santana closed her eyes and took a deep breath and crossed the line she'd been dancing around from the moment she'd stepped foot in Kurt Hummel's apartment. “Here's where it starts to get big.” **  
**


	16. Chapter 16

**Tuesday, 10:13 a.m. - Tuesday, 11:19 a.m.**

**Wisconsin, Iowa**

  
Kurt was surprised that his heart didn't actually stop beating when he heard the siren behind them, because fuck.  
  
“Oh, shit,” Kurt muttered, panic rising in his throat. He grabbed Blaine's bicep and shook him roughly. “Blaine – Blaine, wake up. We're getting pulled over.”  
  
Blaine's eyes popped open, his expression moving from confused to concerned to downright terrified in less than two seconds. “What?” He turned his head to fully absorb the flashing blue lights behind them. “Shit. Shit! What should we do? What are we going to do?” Blaine's voice was shrill and he seemed to be having trouble breathing properly.  
  
“I don't know, I don't know!” Kurt swallowed. “Okay. Let's just – I guess play it by ear? Maybe they don't know. We're in Wisconsin, they might not know – maybe they're just going to give me a ticket.”  
  
“Oh god,” Blaine whispered fervently, his eyes closed. He reached out blindly until his hand found Kurt's, squeezing tightly and repeating “please don't let us get caught, god, please don't let us get caught” on a continuous loop as if it would stop this from happening.  
  
Kurt squeezed Blaine's hand just as tightly and took a deep breath. Calm. He had to appear calm for this, even if he was screaming and praying and vomiting on the inside. “OK,” he said, the control in his voice a surprise to his own ears, “I'm just going to pull over.”  
  
Kurt pulled the car over to the side of the road, wanting to kick himself for letting this happen. They had barely encountered another car for miles, and Blaine had been sleeping, and Kurt had lost himself in thoughts and daydreams instead of remaining as alert as possible. He should have seen the cop. He should have known this would happen if he let his attention wander.  
  
The cop car pulled up behind them, lights still flashing even after the siren was turned off.  
  
“Turn off your engine,” came a voice, crackly over an intercom that Kurt realized was coming from the car itself behind them.  
  
Kurt turned off the engine.  
  
“Oh my god, he's a Nazi,” Kurt whispered when he caught sight of the officer walking toward them  through the rearview mirror. The man had a dark blonde buzz-cut and a perfectly pressed uniform, mirrored sunglasses completely hiding his eyes. He moved like a fucking robot.  
  
Kurt looked up at the cop, giving him his most dazzling smile. He could practically feel Blaine doing the same.  
  
“Hello, officer,” Kurt said, his voice a bubble of sweet confusion. “Is there a problem?”  
  
“Want to let me see your license, please?” the cop replied coolly, not returning their smiles. He wore a brass nameplate on his right breast pocket, identifying him as Officer B. Ryan.  
  
“Um...of course,” Kurt said, flustered. He reached for his messenger bag and fumbled for the coin purse where he kept his cards.  
  
“I told you to slow down,” Blaine said to him, tossing the cop a grin as if in solidarity. “Officer, I told him to slow down.”  
  
Kurt laughed weakly. “That’s true, he did. How fast was I going?”  
  
“About 110,” came the clipped reply, as Ryan took Kurt's license and examined it.  
  
Kurt swallowed. “Oh.”  
  
“Want to get out of the car please?”  
  
Kurt gave Blaine a quick, nervous glance. “sure,” he said, fighting to keep his composure.  
  
Kurt climbed out of the car and stood awkwardly, surprised that his legs didn't give out from sheer nerves. This did not appear to be going well at all.  
  
“Is this your vehicle?” Officer Ryan asked.  
  
“Yes, sir, it is,” Kurt answered.  
  
The officer nodded and gestured for Kurt to follow him.  
  
“You want to get into the car, please?” he said, nodding toward the cruiser. Kurt took a deep breath and glanced back at Blaine, who was watching them with round, frightened eyes.  
  
“Um...front or the back?” Kurt asked.  
  
“Front.”  
  
Kurt turned and locked eyes with Blaine one last time before opening the door and getting into the police car.  
  
“You want to take off your eyewear, please?” Ryan asked as soon as they sat down, not removing his own sunglasses.  
  
“Y-yes, sir,” Kurt stuttered, fumbling to remove them. He took a deep breath. “Am – am I in trouble, officer?”  
  
“As far as I'm concerned, yes, sir, you're in a lot of trouble,” Ryan replied, picking up his police radio to contact dispatch. “Hello, this is 98–” he began. Kurt clamped his eyes shut and held his breath, awaiting the inevitable.  
  
But the cop cut himself off in mid sentence and then barked, “you want to step back and get in your car, please?”  
  
Kurt opened his eyes to see Blaine standing at the open driver's-side window, smiling in at them both.  
  
And then he pulled out Dave's gun and pressed it into the side of Officer B. Ryan's head.  
  
“Officer, I am so sorry about this,” Blaine said, sounding like he meant it very much. “But would you let go of that?”  
  
Ryan immediately dropped the radio.  
  
“Now I really, really apologize, but would you put your hands on the steering wheel?”  
  
The cop quickly braced his hands against the wheel, staring straight ahead.  
  
“See, now if you get on that radio, you're going to find out that we're wanted in two states, and probably considered armed and dangerous – at least, I am. And then our whole plan is just going to go straight down the tubes. Kurt, take his gun.”  
  
Kurt's mouth dropped open as he stared at Blaine.  Or rather, he stared at the man who was currently inhabiting Blaine's body. Because this man sounded fearless and confident and like he didn't need Kurt to protect him at all.  
  
“Kurt, take his gun,” Blaine repeated. Kurt just kept gawping at him, frozen in place. “Right there,” Blaine added encouragingly, nodding his head toward where Ryan's gun sat at his hip. Kurt continued to stare at him.  
  
“Kurt,” Blaine enunciated forcefully. “Gun.”  
  
Kurt blinked, finally springing into action when he realized that – holy fuck – he should probably hurry up, because they kind of had a police officer held at gunpoint on the side of the road.  
  
“Right,” Kurt finally managed to articulate. He turned to the cop, who actually looked kind of scared even behind his sunglasses. “I'm so sorry about this,” Kurt said earnestly as he slid the gun out of its holster.  
  
“Would you step out of the car, please?” Blaine asked officer Ryan calmly, stepping back but keeping the gun trained on Ryan as he opened the door and got out. The man looked like he was on the verge of tears.  
  
“Now I swear, three days ago neither one of us would ever pull a stunt like this one,” Blaine explained, “but if you were to meet my husband, I'm pretty sure you'd understand why I finally snapped.” Kurt nodded in fervent agreement.  
  
“Would you put your hands on your head, please?” Blaine asked kindly. Ryan complied. “Kurt?”  
  
“Yeah?” Kurt asked, still not entirely sure that this was actually happening.  
  
“Shoot the radio.”  
  
“Right.” Kurt located what he was pretty sure was the radio and fired, the volume knob and pre-set buttons popping and sparking at the impact.  
  
“Um...I meant the police radio, Kurt,” Blaine said, very obviously trying not to laugh.  
  
“Oh. Right. Sorry,” Kurt mumbled, his cheeks red. He supposed that did make a lot more sense.  
  
Kurt shot the police radio – twice for good measure – hearing it crackle and then cut off into silence.  
  
“Got it,” Kurt announced with satisfaction.  
  
“Fabulous. Thanks, babe,” Blaine said, shooting Kurt a wink, and Kurt didn't know whether to roll his eyes or swoon, because honestly. Just because it was ridiculous didn't mean it wasn't also hot.  
  
“Want to step to the back of the car, please?” Blaine asked Ryan, walking backward and nodding to indicate the trunk. The officer followed silently.  
  
“Kurt – get the keys?” Blaine asked, and Kurt nodded, leaning over to pull the keys out of the ignition. As he sat up, he heard two loud gun shots and a deafening clang of metal. Kurt's eyes widened and he scrambled out of the car.  
  
“What's going on? What just happened?” Kurt asked as he ran to Blaine's side. Blaine had the gun fixed on the trunk itself, and was in the process of re-training it on Ryan, who was staring at the trunk with his mouth hanging open.  
  
“Air holes,” Blaine explained, two smoking bullet holes side by side on the trunk lid.  
  
“Oh,” Kurt said, exhaling. He unlocked the trunk and opened it. “Want to give me a little warning next time? You scared the shit out of me.”  
  
“Sorry. You want to step into the trunk please, sir?”  
  
Officer Ryan finally burst into tears.  
  
“Please. I've got a wife and kids,” he whimpered. “Please stop!” Kurt bit his lip.  
  
“You do?” Blaine asked. “Well, you're lucky. You be sweet to them. Especially your wife. My husband wasn't sweet to me, and look how I turned out. Now go ahead, get in there.”  
  
Still whimpering, officer Ryan began to lower himself into the trunk.  
  
“Oh, officer, wait just a moment,” Kurt said, reaching into the trunk and pulling out a case of beer. Blaine raised an appreciative eyebrow. “Oh, and sir, could you give me your belt, please?” Ryan began unbuckling his belt with trembling fingers. “Extra ammo,” Kurt explained to Blaine.  
  
“Good idea,” Blaine praised with a smile.  
  
“And, oh – Blaine, maybe we should leave him with some water?”  
  
“Yeah, definitely,” Blaine agreed. “Hurry up, though, if anyone comes–”  
  
Kurt ran back to the car as fast as he could, exchanging the belt and beer for two large water bottles before running back to join Blaine.  
  
“Officer, I really am so sorry about this,” Blaine said, as Ryan curled up on his side and Kurt placed the water bottles next to him.  
  
“I apologize also,” Kurt added sincerely.  
  
With one last regretful look, Blaine gently but firmly closed the trunk lid. “Okay, let's go,” he said, turning to Kurt. Kurt nodded and threw Ryan's car keys into the brush on the side of the road.  
  
When they reached the car Kurt immediately climbed into the passenger seat, because he was so not in the mood to get behind the wheel again right now, and Blaine jumped into the driver's seat without question.  
  
“You ready?” Blaine asked.  
  
Kurt nodded. “Let's hit it.”  
  
Blaine gunned the engine, [the radio](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O52jAYa4Pm8&feature=related) blaring to life and making Kurt jump slightly in his seat.  They took off like a shot.  
  
Blaine laughed, a little manic and a lot giddy. “I know it's crazy, but I just feel like I've got a knack for this stuff, Kurt,” he said.  
  
Kurt nodded, loading a fresh clip into his newly acquired gun (a Glock 22; It was no Jericho, but it would certainly do), before beginning in on Dave's gun. “You know, Blaine, I believe that is absolutely true,,” he agreed, because holy shit. “Drive like the wind, OK?”  
  
Blaine did.  
  


**~000~**

  
“You know, what I can't figure out is whether these boys are really smart or just exceptionally lucky,” Sandy mused. Schuester smirked at him through the laptop moniter.  
  
“It doesn't matter,” Will said confidently. “Brains will only get you so far, and luck always runs out.”  
  
Santana didn't say anything.  
  
“Lopez? How are you holding up?”  
  
“I'm fine,” she said crisply.  
  
“You sure? You don't have to stay on this case, you know. You've done great work so far, but Detective Ryerson can just as easily–”  
  
“I'm fine, Chief,” Santana snapped.  
  
Will stared at her through the screen. “Sandy, would you give us a moment?” he asked. Santana sighed irritably.  
  
“I understand if this case is hitting a nerve,” Will said as soon as Sandy had gotten up and wandered into Karofsky's kitchen for some more iced tea. “I could see how this might look a bit like the Peterson case on the surface, but–”  
  
“On the surface?” Santana snorted. “You take the federal issue out of the mix, and this is exactly–”  
  
“Lopez. I know at least some of the reason that you left the Bureau, and I will take you off this case, even if you are the best I have, do you understand? You can't let your personal feelings lead you astray here.”  
  
“But chief, my gut just–”  
  
“Your gut is not admissible in a court of law, Santana,” Will replied, gentle and patronizing, and Santana wanted to reach through the computer screen and rip his stupid smug face off and tell him to stop fucking interrupting her, but instead she just gave him a tight smile.  
  
“I understand that, chief. I promise to only follow evidence-based leads, all right? Just...just give me one more day. That's all I need.”  
  
Will sighed. “Don't make me regret this, Detective Lopez.”  
  


**~000~**

  
“Ummmm...Kurt, aren't we still going to Canada?” Blaine was back in the passenger seat, because Kurt really hated letting anyone else drive his car, even if it was Blaine.  
  
“Of course we are,” Kurt replied.  
  
“Then aren't we going in the wrong direction?”  
  
Kurt laughed sharply. “Well, yes, but I figure that if you hold a police officer at gunpoint, shoot out his radio, take his gun and lock him in the trunk of his car, it's probably best just to get out of the state as fast as possible.”  
  
Blaine nodded thoughtfully. “You're a wise man, Kurt Hummel,” he said.  
  
“So I've been told,” Kurt agreed.  
  
Blaine took a swig of the warm, cheap beer the had procured from the trunk of Officer Ryan's car, wrinkling his nose against the taste but continuing to drink.  
  
“You know what, though? I'm really not,” Kurt added suddenly, frowning at the road ahead.  
  
Blaine furrowed his brow. “Kurt?”  
  
“I think...I think I really fucked up, here, Blaine. I think I got us into a situation where we could both get killed. I just – I don't know why I didn't just go to the police right away like you suggested.”  
  
“You know why,” Blaine said with a frown. “You already said why.”  
  
“What did I say again?” Kurt asked weakly.  
  
Blaine shrugged. “Nobody would believe us. We'd still get in trouble, we'd still have had our lives ruined. And Kurt?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Blaine sat up straight and put his beer down in the cup holder. He looked at Kurt seriously. “That guy was hurting me. If you hadn't have come out when you did, he would have hurt me a lot worse. And I'm fairly confident that nothing would have happened to him. Everyone did see me dancing with him all night. They probably would have thought I was asking for it, or even...even that I seduced him or something because I'm definitely gay and I'm pretty sure he was married to a woman, so – you know – what are people going to believe? My life would be so much worse than it is now. At least now I have you, Kurt. And you know what else?”  
  
“What?” Kurt asked, his eyes soft and fond.  
  
“At least now I' finally having some fun."  
  
Kurt couldn't help but laugh at that, because - for better or for worse - he had to admit that he wasn't having the worst time in the world either.  
  
“And Kurt, I'm not sorry that piece of shit is dead. I'm just sorry that it was you who pulled the trigger and not me.”  
  
Kurt nodded. That was something he could definitely understand.  
  
“Blaine, I...even if I did fuck up, though, the worst part is that I'd do it all over again. Anyone who does that to you doesn't deserve to take up space on this planet.”  
  
Blaine reached over and brushed his thumb across Kurt's fingers on the steering wheel.  
  
“I'd kill for you too, you know,” Blaine said, his voice dark and potent. “I mean, I'd rather it not come to that, but if I felt like I had to, I would. I wouldn't even have to think about it.”  
  
Kurt swallowed, his heart pounding in his ears at the significance of Blaine's words.  
  
“Can we just agree to something right now, though?” Blaine asked.  
  
“What's that?”  
  
“No regrets? Just – no more regrets, okay?”  
  
“No more regrets,” Kurt agreed, pulling his hand off the steering wheel to wrap his arm around Blaine and let him nestle close.  
  
They drove on. **  
**


	17. Chapter 17

**Tuesday, 2:33p.m. – Tuesday, 6:12p.m.**

**Iowa, Minnesota**

  
Dave narrowed his eyes at the number flashing across the screen of his cell phone.  
  
“You know,” Lopez said, “there's really no reason for you to keep answering that at this point. If you want me to just–”  
  
But Dave had the phone to his ear before she could finish.  
  
“Yeah,” he said by way of greeting.  
  
“Let me talk to Detective Lopez, please,” Hummel responded, voice all cold and prissy and demanding.  
  
“Hummel,” Dave spat, and God what he wouldn't have done to bust up that pretty face a little just then. “Since the cards are on the table, you mind telling me what the hell you think you're doing with Blaine?”  
  
“Dave, give Detective Lopez the phone or I'm hanging up,” was all Hummel had to say. Bitch.  
  
“What, so you take off on a crime spree and you decide to drag my husband along and fuck him while you're at it? You little–”  
  
Santana approached Karofsky briskly, snatching the phone out of his hand before he could continue. “Thank you, Dave. Mr. Hummel? How are you boys?” she asked when she had the phone pressed to her ear. Dave simply stood and scowled.  
  
“Well, we're all right...we seem to have encountered a snowball effect of sorts, though,” Kurt said with a sigh, and all Santana could think was, Christ, what now?  
  
“You're still with us, though,” Santana pointed out, trying not to actually look impressed, because Ryerson was watching her like a beady-eyed hawk. “You're still here.”  
  
“Well, we're not in the middle of nowhere, but we can see it from here,” Kurt answered with a soft chuckle. Santana couldn't help but smile as well.  
  
“I swear, Kurt, I almost feel like I know you,” she said, shaking her head.  
  
Kurt’s tone grew decidedly cooler.  “Well, you don't.”   
  
“You do know that you're just getting yourself in deeper every moment you're gone?” she asked gently, and fuck this was a thin line she was treading, because the last thing she wanted was for Hummel to turn himself in at this point. The problem was, no one – not even Hummel himself – could know that. Not yet.  Santana was depending on that.  
  
“I know,” Kurt said with a sigh. “You wouldn't happen to believe me if I told you this whole thing was an accident, would you?”  
  
“I do believe you,” Santana assured him firmly. “And that's what I want everyone to believe. Unfortunately, it doesn't look like an accident, and you're not here to tell me about it.  Please just help me out here, Kurt. Did Sebastian Smythe–”  
  
“I don't want to talk about it,” Kurt interjected quickly.  
  
“Do you want to turn yourselves in?” Santana wondered if Kurt Hummel's heart was beating anywhere near as fast as her own.  
  
“I don't think so,” Kurt answered. Santana swallowed her relief.  
  
“Then I'm sorry. We're going to have to charge you two with murder.  Kurt...please. I want to help you. I know what's making you run. I know what happened to you in Ohio.”  
  
Santana could hear Kurt's gasp, and then a prolonged silence followed by a soft voice in the background that had to be Karofsky-Anderson. “Careful, Kurt. We don't want to blow it now,” he said before the line went dead.  
  
Santana flinched; she hated pulling that Ohio business out on Hummel, but it was the only thing she could think of to keep him on the line.  
  
“We've got it,” Sandy said behind her, sounding slightly in awe of this fact. He was staring at the satellite map on his laptop. “Holy crap...we've got it! I'm phoning it in!”  
  
“Fantastic,” Santana replied tonelessly. “Please excuse me.”  
  


**~000~**

  
“What?” Kurt asked. The look Blaine was giving him was uneasy and curious and concerned and Kurt had absolutely no idea what it could mean.  
  
“You're not going to give up on me, are you?” Blaine asked.  
  
Kurt blinked. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”  
  
Blaine didn't meet his eye. “You're not going to make a deal with that detective?”  
  
“Blaine!” Kurt shook his head and pulled the car over to the side of the road. When they came to a stop, he reached for Blaine's hand.  
  
“Blaine, will you please look at me?” Kurt asked gently. Blaine looked up nervously. “You know what I told you,” Kurt said. “We're in this together. No regrets, remember?”  
  
“I know,” Blaine answered. “But...don't give yourself up just to save me, Kurt, no matter how bad things get. Do you promise?”  
  
Kurt rolled his eyes as if Blaine were being utterly ridiculous. “Blaine.”  
  
“Kurt, do you promise?” Blaine pressed.  
  
Kurt averted his eyes. “Blaine, I can't – if there's no other–”  
  
“Damn it, Kurt, no,” Blaine practically shouted, making Kurt flinch. He stared at Blaine, whose eyes were almost too full of fire to withstand. “We stand together or we fall together. There is no other option. Do you get me?”  
  
Kurt swallowed. “Yes.”  
  
“So–”  
  
“I promise,” Kurt conceded, tilting the side of his head against the headrest behind him. Blaine's eyes were liquid gold in the afternoon sun. “We're in this together.”  
  
“Because even if you thought you were doing it to help me, Kurt, it wouldn't – I just – it's like something's...I don’t know...like something has crossed over in me, and I can't go back. I just couldn't live,” Blaine said. And looking into his eyes, just his eyes alone – was more than enough to prove the truth of what he said. Kurt couldn't imagine this Blaine back at that apartment in Willamsburg, insecure and accommodating, eyes almost perpetually downcast because of something Dave had done or said.  
  
“I know,” Kurt said softly. “I know what you mean.”  
  
Blaine tilted his head back against his own headrest, mirroring Kurt's position. The only point of contact between them was the movement of fingers over hands and wrists, soft and intimate as they stared into one another's eyes.  
  
It was simple and silent, and it was everything.  
  
“They, um...” Kurt began after a moment, clearing his throat. “They're charging us with murder.”  
  
“Oh,” Blaine answered thoughtfully. “Well. Didn't she say anything positive at all?”  
  
Kurt laughed, pulling Blaine closer by the hand to kiss his smiling lips. “Well,” he replied when he pulled back, still cradling the nape of Blaine's neck in his hand and thumbing over the soft curls there, “at least we have some very vague advice from the internet about how to slightly increase our chances of getting into Canada without getting shot or eaten by bears.”  
  
“See? I'll bet you're glad I brought that lantern after all,” Blaine reasoned, laughing, before pulling Kurt back in for another kiss.  
  
As they pulled back onto the road (because really, as much as they might like to wile away the afternoon making out in the car, they did have some time restraints to consider), Blaine began dislodging a new prepaid phone from its packaging. They had been getting rid of the phones after each call, but this was really the last one they could justify paying for.  
  
Kurt lit a cigarette, allowing Blaine to take the car lighter from his hand when he was finished with it, lighting his own cigarette and plugging the phone into the lighter receptacle to charge.  
  
“You're not calling them back, are you?” Kurt asked. “Because at this point, I don't think there's much left to say.”  
  
“No,” Blaine answered with a shrug. “I just figured I may as well keep looking for ideas for getting into Canada. I mean, we may as well, right?”  
  
Kurt nodded. “Sure,” he said, trying to make his tone sound light and positive. Trying not to let himself start to panic about the fact that they would be reaching the border before too long, and they still weren't entirely sure what they were going to do.  
  
Kurt hummed along to [the radio](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zbsj0bPyiQI) as Blaine thumbed through the phone, the sun warm on the exposed skin of his arms and face and throat. He could almost pretend that they were still on a vacation in moments like this one, and the thought filled him with an unwelcome and overwhelming sadness.  
  
“Hey,” Blaine said suddenly. He stared at Kurt and then back down to the phone, throwing his cigarette over the side of the car and gripping the phone with both hands. “Wait a minute. I don't think we checked out this page yet.”  
  
“Hmmm?” Kurt asked, trying not to let the tiniest flutter of hope rise in his chest.  
  
“We – holy shit. Kurt, you need to pull over. This...this could be it, Kurt.”  
  
“OK,” Kurt agreed, his voice a little too high. He pulled over to the side of the road, a constant, silent mantra of don't get your hopes up, don't get your hopes up, don't get your hopes up managing to keep him relatively calm.  
  
Blaine handed him the phone, his face alight with such excitement that Kurt could barely manage to cling to his cynicism.  
  
“Blaine, I've already looked at all the...oh.” Kurt stopped short, raising an eyebrow at the screen. This was new. And oddly detailed. And...shit. Kurt sighed. “This does look new, but we still don't have grappling hooks, so–”  
  
“No, I know,” Blaine interrupted, barely able to sit still. “But if you follow this link just below that part, there's an alternate path we could take.” Blaine pointed to one of several embedded links on the screen. Kurt clicked on it and his eyes widened.  
  
“We'd have to leave the car and we couldn't carry much, but–”  
  
“Fuck the car,” Kurt managed, his voice high and choked, his heart beating so hard it was threatening to split his ribcage open.  
  
“Kurt, you love this car,” Blaine protested, but he was still speaking unnaturally fast, his body practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “Your father gave you this car.”  
  
“I-I'm not saying I want to leave it. But it's just a thing, Blaine. It's all just things.” Kurt waved a hand back to indicate everything they had piled into the back seat. “If all I get out of this is you and freedom and a future, I don't want anything else.”  
  
“Neither do I,” Blaine said fiercely, eyes blazing, pulling Kurt into a toe-curling, heart-clenching, hot, wet, arousing, otherwordly kiss. Kurt dropped the phone to the center console, clutching at Blaine desperately, pulling and reaching and panting and not even knowing what he was trying to get, but god, he fucking wanted it. He wanted every inch of Blaine, every little bit from the beautiful to the festering, from the ridiculous to the sublime. He wanted to hold Blaine whenever he cried and watch him whenever he laughed and wake up next to him in the morning and and whisper secrets into the darkness as they fell asleep, he just wanted it all and he wanted it forever and suddenly it was not only possible but probable that he would have it.  
  
That they would have it. Together.  
  
When they finally broke away, there were tears in both of their eyes. Kurt bit his lip and smiled so hard it made his face ache.  
  
“This...yeah. This could work,” Kurt said, picking up the phone again and staring incredulously at the screen. “Oh my god, Blaine, this could work.”  
  
Blaine actually kicked his feet, emitting a squeal of pure joy. Kurt couldn't help but swoop in again, pulling Blaine into a tight hug.  
  
“Okay,” Blaine said, laughing through his tears as Kurt held him. “Let's get our asses to Canada!”  
  


**~000~**

  
Everything felt different after that.  
  
They sang at the top of their voices along with every song on [the radio](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_r0n9Dv6XnY), even the terrible ones. They kissed at every stoplight. They fed each other ice cream sandwiches and Kurt didn't even seem to mind when he got chocolate on his pale blue shirt.  
  
Because they were going to make it.  
  
When they crossed into Minnesota Blaine let out a whoop of joy and gave Kurt a resounding high-five.  
  
“We'll need to stop for supplies,” Kurt mused as the air grew colder and the stretches between towns grew longer. “Maybe a camping supply store or– ”  
  
“Oh my god, Kurt, look.”  
  
Kurt squinted at the truck ahead of him, taking in the pinup girl mudflaps and the "Rush Limbaugh for President" bumper sticker.  
  
“Holy – do you think that's him?”  
  
“That's him,” Blaine declared, bouncing with excitement. “That's definitely him. I think you should pass him.”  
  
Kurt bit his lip and tossed Blaine an uncertain glance.  
  
“Come on, Kurt. You really think that jerk is any kind of a threat to us? If you haven't been paying attention, we're kind of turning into bad-ass motherfuckers here.”  
  
Kurt pursed his lips, clearly fighting to avoid giving in.  
  
Blaine smiled, leaning into Kurt's space seductively and rubbing his thigh.   
  
“Come on,” Blaine mumbled against Kurt's jaw between slow, wet kisses, his hand moving closer and closer to Kurt's groin. “Let's give him a show. Find out what the fuck he's so afraid of.”  
  
Kurt groaned. “You're going to be the death of me, Blaine Anderson.”  Blaine grinned against his jaw in response.  
  
Kurt sped up until the Camaro was abreast of the truck. Blaine looked up and flashed the driver a wink as they passed.  
  
“Well, if it isn't the same little cocksuckers from back in Kentucky,” came the truck driver's voice when they both pulled to a stop, side-by-side at a lonely intersection. “You boys sucking your way across the country or what?”  
  
Blaine batted his eyelashes and flashed the man a smile, continuing to rub Kurt's thigh. “Wouldn't want to intrude on your territory,” he replied.  
  
“You fucking little faggots,” the guy sneered. “I ought to ram you right off the goddamn road for real this time.”  
  
“Oh, aren't you brave, cowering behind your eighteen wheels,” Kurt shot back disdainfully. “It's not like you could take either one of us in a fair fight.”  
  
The man narrowed his eyes. “It's a pity I don't believe in hitting women,” he said.  
  
“It's a pity you're too scared to face us like a man,” Blaine retorted.  
  
“You fucking–”  
  
Kurt floored it before the guy really could ram them with his truck, Blaine laughing and waving both middle fingers high in the air.  
  
“He's following kind of close,” Kurt observed.  
  
“Well, maybe we should give him the opportunity to settle this then,” Blaine said with a smirk and a shrug. Kurt side-eyed Blaine for a moment before allowing his face to break into a wicked smile, a moment of silent communication passing between them.  
  
Kurt pulled off the road toward an empty weigh station without so much as a glance in the rearview mirror.  
  
“Holy shit, he's actually following us,” Blaine said excitedly, looking back over his shoulder.  
  
“Well, good. I think the three of us are overdue for a nice little conversation, don't you?”  
  
Blaine grinned. “Definitely.”  
  
By the time the truck reached them, Kurt and Blaine had climbed out of the car and were leaning against it casually.  
  
The man threw open the door and climbed out. He wore a Bruins baseball cap and a faded and stained T-shirt that read “hockey players do it with their sticks.”  
  
“So, which one of you nancy boys wants to go first?” He growled, cracking his knuckles as he advanced on them. “And just so we're clear, I'm here to kick your asses, not fuck them.”  
  
“I actually think we'd rather have a chat first,” Blaine replied calmly. “So what the hell is your problem with us, anyway?”  
  
“Yeah. What did we ever do to you? Do you really think either one of us looks desperate enough to have sex with you?” Kurt demanded, his lip curling with revulsion.  
  
“Please,” the guy scoffed. “You only wish you could ride the stick.”  
  
“You know what I think?” Kurt mused. “I think you're afraid.”  
  
“What the–” the guy sputtered. “I'll kick your fucking–”  
  
He moved closer, zeroing in on Kurt. Kurt smiled pleasantly and pulled the Jericho out of his waistband, training it on the man. The guy froze dead in his tracks.  
  
“Now this? This you have every reason to be afraid of,” Kurt said, nodding toward the gun. “But this?” Blaine tilted his head, allowing Kurt to lean in and kiss his lips softly. Kurt looked back at the man as he broke the kiss. “Now what on earth is so scary about that?”  
  
“I'm not afraid,” the man muttered, “I just don't need to see that shit.”  
  
“Oh?” Blaine responded, raising an eyebrow. “And we need to see straight people sucking face everywhere we go? Because I can absolutely assure you that we're forced to look at that every goddamn day.”  
  
“How would you like it if you couldn't even kiss your wife?” Kurt added, noting the man's wedding ring. “How would you like it if some asshole was more than happy to beat the crap out of you – or her – for doing it?”  
  
The man opened his mouth as if to reply, then closed it sullenly, glaring at the gun in Kurt's hand.  
  
“I think you owe us an apology,” Blaine said, crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
“I'm not apologizing for shit,” the guy said, raising his chin defiantly.  
  
“Just say you're sorry,” Kurt demanded.  
  
“Fuck that!” the guy spat, seeming to decide that Kurt wasn't actually going to shoot him. He shook his head and turned to walk back to his truck.  
  
He froze at the sound of one hammer, and then another, sliding into position. The guy slowly turned around to see both Kurt and Blaine, guns cocked and pointed directly at him, their hands steady and their eyes blazing.  
  
“You say you're sorry,” Kurt said, “or I'm going to make you fucking sorry.”  
  
The trucker glared at them, his eyes radiating nothing but pure, unmasked hatred. He pressed his lips into a thin line and said nothing.  
  
Kurt sighed, then aimed the gun to the right of the guy and pressed the trigger.  
  
A shot rang out and one of the truck's tires began to hiss loudly.  
  
“Yes!” Blaine cried out, taking his left hand off the grip to punch the air. Kurt laughed and took aim again, shooting out another tire.  
  
“Jesus Christ!” The man shrieked, whipping around to look at his flattened tires before turning back to face Kurt. “You crazy fucking faggot!”  
  
Kurt studied the man thoughtfully. “You know what?” he asked, turning slightly toward Blaine. “I don't think he's going to apologize to us.”  
  
“Nah, me neither,” Blaine agreed, scrunching his nose and grinning wide.  
  
The man dove to the ground as both Kurt and Blaine began firing at his truck in earnest, the clang of metal and hiss of tires suddenly swallowed by a deafening blast.  
  
They watched the explosion with wide eyes and open mouths, Blaine pulling Kurt to the ground to avoid the flying chunks of metal as an enormous ball of orange fire lit up the sky.  
  
“Holy shit,” Blaine whispered, staring in wonder at the smoking, burning wreckage of the truck.  
  
“You crazy psychotic perverts!” the truck driver screamed, throwing his baseball cap to the ground as he knelt in the dirt and watched his truck burn. “You evil fucking hell-bound faggots!”  
  
“Oh my god, Blaine, we have to get out of here immediately,” Kurt said, gasping through a maniacal bout of laughter that had consumed him. Blaine nodded, laughing just as hard, allowing Kurt to help him to his feet so that they could scramble into the car.  
  
Even in his haste to leave, Kurt couldn't seem to resist driving a couple of circles around the enraged man, giggling uncontrollably at the man's screamed insults and threats.  
  
“I'll kill you!” he screamed as they peeled out of the weigh station. “Just wait! Just fucking wait!”  
  
“Wow!” Blaine gasped once they were back on the road.  
  
“Oh my god! Blaine, I can't believe we did that! Where did you even learn to shoot like that?” Kurt was still laughing, adrenaline pumping through his veins so fast he felt like his entire body was buzzing.  
  
“Oh, you know...movies?” Kurt screamed with laughter at that. “I pretty much just hit the side of the truck, though. You're the one that got the tires and the gas tank. How on earth did you learn to shoot like that?”  
  
Kurt shot him a toothy grin. “Ohio!” he answered, both men laughing even harder as they sped across the plains into the pale evening light. **  
**


	18. Chapter 18

**Tuesday, 8:05p.m. - Tuesday, 10:43p.m.**

**Minnesota**

  
“I know you want to be part of this, Santana, but there's nothing you can do there.”  
  
Santana sighed, glaring at a man who jostled her wheeled carry-on as he walked briskly past. “I know, Chief, I just – they know me. They've talked to me. If I'm there when we take them down don't you think– ”  
  
“Officer Lopez, I don't mean to be insensitive, but I've already spoken to you about this. Now, Ryerson told me how you reacted after the last phone call. You're no good to me like this, Santana.”  
  
“I know, okay?” Santana replied sharply. “I know. I just...if you haven't found them yet anyway, I may as well at least keep working on– ”  
  
“We got a satellite location. They can't be far.”  
  
“It's been a few hours already.”  
  
Will sighed audibly. “Santana. We've got this. Now I want you to take a couple of days off.”  
  
“But–”  
  
“Look. You did good work on this one, but you need to let it go. If I keep you on this case, you're just going to turn into a liability.”  
  
“Okay, chief,” Santana finally conceded, her tone defeated.  
  
“Okay. And Santana? I want you to promise me you won't set foot in the state of Michigan until those boys are in our custody.”  
  
Santana smiled as she stepped out of the airport to greet the crisp Midwestern breeze.  
  
“You know what, Will? That is a promise I can absolutely keep,” she replied, waving down a cab.  
  


**~000~**

  
They found an REI outlet store just outside of Duluth that was open late, and by the time they got there Kurt's adrenaline had long since shifted into buzzing nerves and agitation. Because they were close. And suddenly everything was real.  
  
And their finances were becoming a problem again.  
  
Even at reduced prices, everything was uncomfortably expensive, and they needed at least a little bit left in order to re-join society  once they were safe.    
  
Because, as Kurt had reminded Blaine at least a dozen times, they were not robbing any convenience stores in Canada.  
  
Blaine swallowed every question he had about the practicalities of what they would do once they were actually in Canada; how were they going to obtain something that at least resembled legal status?  How would they find work?  Where would they live?  When the possibility of getting the car across the border had still existed, Blaine knew that they could at least sell that if they had to, but now they had nothing but each other and a bunch of camping supplies.  
  
But Blaine knew that Kurt didn’t have answers for any of these questions, as much as he might act like he knew everything.  Blaine couldn’t let Kurt carve a path for them while he simply followed; they were partners now, in every sense of the word, and figuring out what to do was as much on his shoulders as it was on Kurt’s.  
  
“Do we really need a tent?” Blaine asked, surveying the prices nervously.  Kurt nodded.  
  
“We’re going to be out there for at least three or four days, Blaine, if it rains and either of us gets sick things could go downhill very fast.  Here, this one looks okay.”  
  
“It says it’s a one-man tent.”  
  
“Well, I guess we’ll just have to cuddle up extra close then, won’t we?”  
  
Blaine grinned.  “I think you’ve just found a very shiny silver lining to this situation,” he said.  Kurt returned his smile and squeezed his hand.  
  
They bought backpacks and canteens and hiking shoes and food (“beef jerky, Blaine? you seriously expect me to eat beef jerky?” “It’s a good source of protein and it doesn’t take up much room, Kurt.  You can swap it out for organic almonds when we get to Canada, okay?”), and by the time they left the store they had spent the vast majority of their money.  
  
“I could call Cooper,” Blaine suggested, watching Kurt’s hands shake as he counted what was left. “He would wire me some, I’m sure of it.”  
  
Kurt shook his head.  “Not until we’re in Canada.  I don’t...we can’t do anything that will let anyone find us until we’re in Canada.”  
  
They loaded up their backpacks, looking mournfully at all the things they would have to leave behind with the car, and got back on the road, letting [the music](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jzplmeMMB84) in the car fill the silence between them..  
  
Neither man noticed the silver Impala that followed them out of the parking lot.  
  
“Kurt?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Are you awake?”  
  
“I should hope so, Blaine, I am driving.”  
  
Blaine smiled. “Me too. I feel awake.”  
  
“Well, you're not drunk anymore. That could be it,” Kurt said with a quirk of his lips. Blaine laughed.  
  
“No, it's like – I don't think I've ever felt this awake. Like I finally have something to look forward to, and everything's just more...vivid. More real.”  
  
Kurt nodded. “I feel that way too.”  
  
Blaine reached for his hand. “Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.” Kurt paused. “What are you going to do when we get to Canada?”  
  
“I..I don't know,” Blaine stammered, caught off guard. “I can still write, I suppose, but I'll have to start from scratch.”  
  
“You've always wanted to act, though,” Kurt said with a frown.  
  
Blaine shrugged. “I can't exactly do anything that will make my face famous, though, Kurt, so there isn't much point–”  
  
“You could do community theater,” Kurt suggested. “No worries about too much exposure there.”  
  
Blaine studied Kurt's profile. “You – you wouldn't think that was stupid?” he asked quietly.  
  
“Of course not,” Kurt said, sounding confused. “Why would I ever think something that makes you happy is stupid?”  
  
Blaine shrugged, looking down at his lap. “I don't know, Dave always said–”  
  
“If you recall, Blaine, you left your wedding ring sitting in about two inches of stale bourbon in a fleabag motel in Kentucky.”  
  
Blaine looked up at Kurt, his face slowly breaking into a grin.  
  
“Oh my god, I really did, didn't I?”  
  
“You really did. So I don't think you need to bother yourself with what Dave says anymore,” Kurt said firmly, an edge of possessiveness in his voice that sent a thrill up Blaine's spine.  
  
“I love you,” Blaine sighed.  
  
Kurt flashed him a soft smile and squeezed his hand. “You'd better.”  
  
Blaine couldn't help but smile back. “Kurt?”  
  
“Hmmm?”  
  
“What do you want to do when we get to Canada?”  
  
Kurt looked thoughtful. “Well, I suppose I'll have to learn the nuances of the Canadian cocktail, but the beauty of bartending is that it's one of the most portable professions in the world.”  
  
Blaine shook his head. “No, I mean...eventually. You – you should go back to design school. You always said you wanted to.”  
  
“Well, I suppose I'll have to see what our options look like when we get there,” Kurt said lightly.  
  
Blaine looked at him nervously.  
  
“We'll figure it out, Blaine. I promise.”  
  
Blaine sighed. “Yeah. It's just – it's a lot to figure out, isn't it? New identities, documentation...”  
  
“Let's just worry about getting there first, all right?” Kurt asked, giving Blaine's hand another squeeze.  
  
Blaine exhaled into a smile. “All right.”  
  


**~000~**

  
Officer Evans sat up straight, because yes – if he knew his cars (and he knew his cars), that was a '69 Camaro convertible, black as night, with New York plates.  
  
He reached for his radio. The local boys had been crawling all over the northern part of the state looking for those two. And here they were, practically gift-wrapped.  
  
He had them.  
  


**~000~**

  
“I think we should stop for dinner,” Kurt said abruptly.  Blaine raised his eyebrows at him.  
  
“But...the money...”  
  
Kurt sighed.  “Look.  Twenty dollars isn’t going to make or break us.  Nothing fancy, just...this is probably the last time we’ll ever be in the United States.  We...we’ll probably never get to see New York again, or visit our childhood homes, or reconnect with our high school friends.    We’ll never get to take that trip to San Francisco that we always talked about.  This is it, Blaine, and if I’m going to be living off of beef jerky and dried cranberries for the better part of a week before starting a new life as an illegal alien, I at least want one last greasy meal in an American diner before we go.”  
  
Blaine swallowed the lump in his throat, because Kurt was right.  As much as Blaine knew that this was what he wanted, he also knew that it would be painful and lonely and frightening to start all over again.  And the fact that he couldn’t come back, not even to visit...  
  
“Yeah,” he said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice.  “That sounds really nice.”  
  
The diner they ended up at was charming and homey, the decor more actual retro kitch than an ironic attempt to emulate it.  Kurt ordered a bacon cheeseburger and Blaine got roast beef with gravy and mashed potatoes, and when the food came they both just sat and stared at it.  
  
“I feel like a death row inmate about to eat his last meal,” Blaine said, trying to summon even the slightest desire to eat his dinner.  
  
“I know what you mean,” Kurt sighed.  “I always wondered how people even have an appetite at all when they eat their last meal.  I don’t think I could eat a bite if I knew I was about to be executed.”  
  
“This is good though, right?” Blaine asked, looking up from his plate to meet Kurt’s eyes.  “I mean...this is what we both want.”  
  
Kurt nodded.  “It is, I just...god, Blaine, a thousand and one things could go wrong.  Aren’t you...aren’t you scared?”  
  
“Of course I am,” Blaine replied, reaching across the table to take Kurt’s hand.  “But I’m with you.  No matter what happens, whether we make it or fail completely, we’re doing it together.  Just knowing that makes me less afraid.”  
  
“But what if...” Kurt bit his lip, and for the first time let Blaine really see the fear behind his eyes. “What if I end up in prison, and I can’t ever see you because you’re in prison too and we’re on separate cell blocks, and-”  
  
“Kurt, stop,” Blaine admonished softly.  “I know.  But thinking like that isn’t going to help us.  We can’t stop fighting until we’re completely out of options.  I don’t think we’d stop fighting even if we were out of options.  But the longer we put it off the harder it’s going to be, so maybe we should just get on with it.”  
  
Kurt nodded in agreement.  “Yeah.  I...I’m really not hungry.  I’m sorry, Blaine, I shouldn’t have made us come here and buy dinner we aren’t going to eat when we can’t even afford-”  
  
“Let’s get it to go,” Blaine said.  Kurt gave him a skeptical look.  
  
“I’m serious.  We’ve still got a couple of hours to go before we, um...leave the car, and at some point our appetites will catch up with us and we’ll wish we had some real food with us.”  
  
Kurt smiled.  “What would I do without you?”  
  


**~000~**

  
“One-twelve? You got a location on those suspects?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Sam confirmed.  
  
“All right. Keep on them and wait for backup. We do not want you approaching them on your own. These men are very, very dangerous.”  
  
“Roger that. They're pulling into a restaurant now. CiCi's Diner on West Everwood.”  
  
“Got it. Keep them in your sights. Do not do anything reckless. Backup is on the way.”  
  


**~000~**

When they walked out of the diner, it was hand in hand, their to-go containers neatly stacked in a plastic bag in Blaine’s free hand.  
  
“So...was this our first date?” Kurt asked, smiling over at Blaine.  
  
Blaine barked out a laugh. “I don't know. Personally, I was counting our little meeting with that truck driver. I thought it was pretty romantic.”  
  
“You and your old-fashioned notions of romance,” Kurt sighed, fluttering his eyelashes as he swung their hands between them.  
  
“When we get to Canada, I want to take you on a real date,” Blaine said seriously, gazing at Kurt.  
  
“Oh, no. If that was your idea of a first date, I don't even want to know what your idea of a real date could be. Arson? Espionage?”  
  
“As long as it's with you, neither one of those options sounds so bad.”  
  
They both laughed, too wrapped up in one another to notice the figure leaning against their car in the dimness of the parking lot.  
  
Until they did.  
  
“Mr. Karofsky-Anderson? Mr. Hummel?” the figure said when they came to an abrupt stop.  
  
Kurt gasped, his gentle grasp on Blaine's hand turning into a death-grip. Blaine just continued to stare, white-faced and frozen.  
  
A chuckle came from the person leaning against the car. “Do you have any idea how many people have been looking for you boys?”  
  


**~000~**

  
“Shit,” Sam muttered, banging his head against the steering wheel. He picked up his radio.  
  
“This is one-twelve...uh...about those suspects at Cici's diner?”  
  
“Backup is on the way, one-twelve.”  
  
“Yeah. Um. About that. You want to maybe...cancel that call?”  
  
“Cancel it?”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam sighed, watching the two middle-aged women walk into the diner together. “These definitely aren't the men we're looking for.”  
  


**~000~**

  
“Who are you?” Kurt demanded once he was able to speak, fingers snaking into his messenger bag.  
  
“I wouldn't, Hummel,” the woman said. Her voice was oddly familiar. “I can guarantee that I'm a better shot than you, and having to put a bullet in you after all this would just be depressing.”  
  
“Who are you?” Kurt asked again, but kept his hand resting on the strap of his bag.  
  
“My name is Santana Lopez. We've spoken before. This morning, as a matter of fact. Now, we can have this conversation here, or we can have it at the hotel. Your choice.”  
  
“Hotel?” Blaine managed, blinking.  
  
“Yes, Virginia, hotel. Now I don't want to end up having to chase you boys down again, so my car or yours?”  
  
“We...why should we go with you?” Kurt asked tightly.  
  
Santana shrugged. “Do you really have a better option?”  
  
“Yes, as a matter of fact. We were just on our way out of town. So if you aren't going to arrest us–”  
  
Santana huffed an irritated sigh. “Of course I'm not going to arrest you. No one else knows you're here, and I plan on keeping it that way. And those directions you found on google are complete bullshit anyway, so unless you want to end up getting caught by Mounties and Park Rangers, which is pretty much the most humiliating end to this adventure that I can possibly imagine, I highly recommend that you come with me.”  
  
The two men stared at her for a long moment.  
  
“You were a lot nicer on the phone,” Kurt finally said.  
  
Santana shrugged. “Yeah, that happens sometimes. Depends on who's listening in. So. Ready?”  
  
Kurt glanced at Blaine, who still seemed to be in something of a state of shock.  
  
“Blaine?” Kurt asked softly.  
  
Blaine blinked. “I...wh-why are you doing this?” he asked.  
  
Santana's face faltered slightly. “Well, Sparky, that's definitely a story for the hotel,” she said. “But let's just say I'm doing this as much for myself as for you two pretty ponies, okay?”  
  
Kurt nodded. “Okay,” he said, looking at Blaine.  
  
Blaine nodded back. “Okay,” he agreed.  
  
Santana exhaled richly, her shoulders relaxing. “Thank you,” she said softly, smiling at them both.


	19. Chapter 19

  
**Tuesday, 10:43p.m.** **\- Wednesday, 7:06p.m.**   


**Minnesota, Manitoba**

  
After efficiently switching Kurt’s New York plates out for Minnesota ones in the shadowed diner parking lot, Santana begrudgingly agreed to let Kurt follow her to the hotel in his car.  He wasn’t ready to let it go quite yet, even if he only had it for a few more hours.  It was, after all, the last physical thing that truly connected him to his father, and the idea that some stranger who probably wouldn't even take proper care of it would get their hands on it was too much to think about.  
  
“Well,” Kurt mused when they pulled into the long, winding driveway leading to a Marriott hotel, “it looks like Detective Lopez doesn’t have the same financial concerns that we do.”  Blaine smiled at him nervously.  Neither one of them had any idea what to expect, and neither one of them dared surrender to the growing excitement rising up in their chests.  They weren’t safe yet, and they had no idea what was happening.  
  
Still. Since leaving the parking lot at the Silver Bullet, Kurt had never felt as calm and secure as he did following Santana Lopez into the lobby of the Marriott hotel.  
  
“So,” Santana said, once they were in a clean room with a queen-sized bed smelling of fresh linen and lemon cleaning solution, “I imagine you boys might have some questions for me.”  She perched on the edge of the bed, employing the kind of skirt skills that only long years of practice could create, managing to remain completely modest while crossing her legs at the knee in a skin-tight mini skirt.  
  
Kurt sat down across from Blaine at the little table next to the window and nodded.  
  
“I...yes.  Um.  So how did you find us?”  
  
“And why haven’t you arrested us?” interjected Blaine.  
  
“What are you getting out of this anyway?” Kurt demanded, narrowing his eyes.  
  
“What do you want from us?” Blaine asked, biting his lip nervously.  
  
“And what are you going to do with us?” Kurt added.  
  
Santana laughed. “I found you because I’m exceedingly good at what I do and the Pennsylvania State chief of police is a moron, I haven’t arrested you because I know what happens to guys like you in prison and I have a pretty educated guess as to what happened with Smythe at the Silver Bullet, what I’m getting out of this is the ability to live with myself again, since the last time I tried to help someone in a situation like this it didn’t turn out so well, what I want from you is to get out of this alive and intact, and what I am going to do is get you two across the border into Canada.  Anything else?”  
  
“You – you're going to bring us across the border?” Blaine asked incredulously. Santana nodded.  
  
“Why?” demanded Kurt. “I'm sorry, but none of this is quite adding up. Doesn't that somewhat defeat the purpose of your job, detective?”  
  
“Kurt,” Blaine protested softly, touching Kurt's arm. “She's wants to help us. Don't – don't ruin it.”  
  
Santana rolled her eyes. “A little snark from Hummel isn't going to make me turn tail, Karofsky-Ande–”  
  
“Just Anderson,” Blaine interrupted.  
  
Santana glanced between the two of them, her face spreading into a sly grin. “Wanky. And definitely not a surprise. But no, unless you boys would rather turn yourselves in–”  
  
“Not going to happen,” Kurt interjected fiercely  
  
“–then I'm afraid that I'm going to help you no matter how much you piss me off.”  
  
“Why, though?” Kurt insisted, though his voice was considerably softer. “What's in it for you?”  
  
Santana sighed and looked down at her hands. “All right, look. It's like this. I used to be a federal agent, one of the youngest and the best. And I screwed it up.”  
  
Kurt and Blaine watched her silently as she chewed her lip, trying to decide how best to explain herself.  
  
“I–I'm not sorry about what I did. It was a case similar to this one. There was a sexual assault outside a nightclub. The victim fought back, and I guess it looked like he fought a little to well to everyone else. He killed his attacker and swore it was self-defense. I believed him.” Santana shrugged sadly. “No one else did.”  
  
“Wh-what happened to him?” Blaine asked, eyes huge and round. Kurt reached for him, lacing their fingers together across the small table between them.  
  
“He was convicted of first-degree murder,” Santana answered plainly. “The man that assaulted him was a foreign diplomat, so it was a federal case. It just – fuck, what they put that kid through, after what he'd already been through–”  
  
Santana paused, took a shaky breath. “I was the one that tracked him down. If I'd just..it would have been so easy to let him get away. To help him get away. But by the time I was brave enough to even really consider it, he was already in custody. He didn't deserve it and I couldn't stand it, so I–” she threw her hands up helplessly and sighed. “I tampered with the evidence. I was desperate and I tried to help him and it didn't work. They didn't exactly catch me red-handed, but I didn't exactly get away with it either, and I was asked to resign.”  
  
Santana looked down at her hands, clasped together in her lap  
  
“It – he got sent to federal prison. He was this sweet, skinny kid, and they sent him to federal prison, and – and I don't want to even think about what happened to him in there. It must have been as bad as I think, though, because he wasn't there two weeks before he hung himself in his cell.”  
  
Kurt gasped, leaping from his seat and rushing to throw his arms around Blaine. There were tears streaming down Blaine's cheeks.  
  
Santana looked up at them, and Kurt could have sworn her eyes were wet too. “So that's what's in it for me, okay? I can't fix what happened to him or what happened to you, but I can do this.”  
  
Blaine pulled Kurt into his lap and wrapped his arms around his waist tightly. Kurt curled into the embrace, burrowing his face into Blaine's neck, because he couldn't hear this and not be touching Blaine. He just couldn't.  
  
“I just wanted to get it right this time. I'm done with this, anyway, I can't do this work anymore. It makes me sick to my stomach.”  
  
Santana swallowed.  
  
“His name was Luke Peterson,” she added softly. “And I just – I couldn't be responsible for any more Luke Petersons. Even if it wasn't my fault, even if I was just doing my job, it doesn't matter. I couldn't live with myself.”  
  
Kurt lifted his head, guilt gnawing at his gut. “It wasn't self-defense,” he confessed quietly.  
  
“Kurt!” Blaine protested, sounding nearly hysterical.  
  
“We were walking away. I found him – he was hurting Blaine, and I found them, and we were walking away, but then he said – h-he said–” Kurt pinched his eyes shut against the onslaught of tears, because he couldn't tell her what Sebastian said. If he spoke the words out loud he would probably vomit.  
  
“Hummel.” Santana's voice was gentle. “I know. I figured.”  
  
Kurt stared at her. “Y-you did?”  
  
“Yeah. I went to high school with Sebastian Smythe, and I know exactly what kind of scum he was. You aren't the first guys he's hurt like that, and I can guarantee you wouldn't have been the last. And I do know what happened to you in Ohio.” Santana gave him a small, rueful smile. “I know what I'm choosing here.”  
  
“Th-thank you,” Kurt whispered. “Oh god, thank you.”  
  
Blaine nodded in agreement. “We'll never be able to repay you for this,” he said, his voice shaking.  
  
“Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Fancy,” Santana replied as she sat up straight, the vulnerability and softness draining from her voice. “We've still got to get across the border and meet my contact in Winnipeg, get you lovebirds all set up. Everything could still turn into one big shitstorm, so let's save the simpering gratitude until we've actually made it, okay?”  
  
“I...um. Okay,” Blaine agreed, sounding a bit confused.  
  
“Well, I suppose I'll leave you to it, then,” Santana said, standing up and smoothing her skirt. “I'm just across the hall if you need me. Try not to knock any pictures off the wall.”  
  
Blaine knitted his eyebrows, looking even more confused than before.  
  
“Wait, we're actually staying here?” Kurt asked. “Shouldn't – I mean, we really aren't that far from the border, maybe we should just–”  
  
Santana shook her head. “It's nearly midnight, Hummel. Very few people cross the Canadian-American border in the middle of the night for wholesome reasons, and border patrol is pretty well aware of that.”  
  
“Okay,” Blaine agreed, pulling Kurt closer and nuzzling him. “What time should we be ready to go?”  
  
“Meet me downstairs for breakfast at eight,” Santana answered. “And could you wait until I'm gone to start the foreplay, please?”  
  
Blaine laughed against Kurt's neck as Santana strode out the door.  
  


**~000~**

  
“[This song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1yqVIvIciUg) always made me so sad,” Kurt murmured. He and Blaine were lying on the hotel bed, freshly showered and entirely naked. They were facing each other, each with a hand resting on the other's waist. They hadn't even touched other than that, except for soft, chaste kisses and the nuzzling of noses.  
  
Blaine pulled Kurt closer, sliding his hand to the small of Kurt's back. “Why?” he asked. “I guess I never really listened to the words, but it doesn't seem that sad to me.”  
  
Kurt shrugged the shoulder that wasn't buried in the softness of the mattress. “My dad liked it. He used to play this album when he working in the shop. It used to always make me think about him. But in the last few years...it's made me think about you.”  
  
“Really?” Blaine whispered, stroking the tips of his fingers along Kurt's spine.  
  
“Yeah. 'A little gold ring you wear on your hand makes me understand – there's another before me, you'll never be mine...I'm wasting my time...' Kurt sang along. Blaine stared into his eyes, almost felt himself dissolve into their intensity.  
  
“Kurt...” Blaine murmured. Kurt leaned in to brush their lips together before beginning to sing again.  
  
“Staggering through the daytime  
Your image on my mind  
Passing so close beside you baby  
Sometimes the feelings are so hard to hide, except  
  
In my midnight confessions  
When I tell all the world that I love you  
In my midnight confessions  
When I say all the things that I want to  
I love you...”  
  
Kurt smiled. “It doesn't make me sad anymore, though.”  
  
“I never want to make you sad again,” Blaine said earnestly.  
  
“You want to know the best part, though?”  
  
“What's that?”  
  
“When you came to me last night and confessed how you felt, it was just about midnight.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“And I – well, I thought about it. When you were telling me, when – when I took your ring off, I thought about how much it would change the song for me. How something so painful could turn into something so beautiful just like that.”  
  
Blaine swallowed. “Kind of like this vacation, huh?”  
  
Kurt grinned. “I cannot believe you are still calling it a vacation,” he said. “But yes.”  
  
Blaine glanced over to the clock radio as[ a new song began](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5HI_xFQWiYU). “It's just about midnight now, you know.”  
  
“How about that,” Kurt murmured.  
  
“I love you,” Blaine said, tracing each of Kurt's eyebrows reverently with his fingertips.  
  
“I love you too,” Kurt returned, sinking his fingers into Blaine's curls and leaning in for a kiss.  
  
They melted  into one another, warm skin against warm skin, limbs tangled and chests pressed so close it almost really felt like they shared the same heart.  
  
“Blaine...” Kurt's voice was whisper-breathy and desperately sexy. Blaine moaned and hitched a leg over Kurt's hip.  
  
“Blaine is this...” Kurt's hand slid down Blaine's back, fingers coming to rest in the dimples of Blaine's lower back.  
  
“I...um...”  
  
“I don't want to do anything you're uncomfortable with,” Kurt murmured against Blaine's lips.  
  
“Yeah, no, it's just...” Blaine reached behind himself, his hand covering Kurt's, guiding his fingers over the generous swell of Blaine’s ass. “Like this, okay?” He guided Kurt's hands over the supple flesh of one cheek, from hip to thigh and back up, not getting too close to the center.  
  
“Yeah,” Kurt breathed. “Yeah, that's nice.”  
  
Blaine pulled his hand away, cupping Kurt's shoulder and looking into his eyes earnestly. “I promise that I'll want...more eventually, Kurt, it's just...”  
  
“I know,” Kurt responded softly when it became clear that Blaine wasn't going to finish his sentence. Kurt rested his palm on Blaine's hip, fingers still tracing the firm and slightly plump flesh of Blaine's bottom. “It's fine, Blaine, really. I love feeling you inside of me.”  
  
Blaine smiled almost shyly at that, fingers trailing down Kurt's back once again.  
  
“And even if you never want that, it's all right. It won't make me enjoy sex with you any less.”  
  
Blaine smiled, but looked a bit apprehensive.  
  
“You do believe me, don't you?” Kurt asked.  
  
Blaine nodded. “Of course. I just...I want to want it right now, you know? I don't want to let him take something from me that always made me feel so good. Maybe if we just–”  
  
“It's been three days, Blaine,” Kurt reminded him gently. “Give yourself time. We have the rest of our lives to get to that if you want to.”  
  
Blaine's smile was watery. “I will want that eventually, with you. I do want you to make love to me like that, Kurt.”  
  
“Then I will. Eventually. But I never want to make you feel uncomfortable. Even if you wanted to stop having sex altogether for awhile, I–”  
  
“No!” Blaine objected sharply. “No, that's the worst idea I've ever heard.”  
  
Kurt buried his face in Blaine's neck and shook with laughter.  
  
“Sex with you, Kurt, it's like nothing I've ever experienced before. And we're only just starting to learn each other.”  
  
“Hmmm,” Kurt agreed with a lazy smile, running his hand softly across the outer edges of Blaine's ass. “I love learning you. You have a really fantastic ass, do you know that?”  
  
Blaine snorted, but he also blushed. “I have a big ass.”  
  
“Well...sort of, yeah, but that's part of what makes it so sexy.”  
  
“Yours is small, but it's really sexy,” Blaine countered. Kurt gave him a devilish smile and rolled them over so that he was resting heavily on top of Blaine, their erections growing as they pressed together.  
  
“I'm glad you think so,” Kurt murmured, arching up into Blaine's touch when he reached down and squeezed, parting Kurt's cheeks gently.  
  
“You still sore from this morning?” Blaine murmured against Kurt's neck between tiny kisses, his thumbs dipping to rub feather-light across Kurt's hole.  
  
Kurt shuddered and made a needy sound. “A little, but not too much,” he answered on a gasp.  
  
“Hmmm. Well, maybe I can make you feel better,” Blaine murmured, kissing Kurt firmly and wriggling out from beneath Kurt's body.  
  
“Hey,” Kurt whined, “where are you going?”  
  
“You'll see,” Blaine replied mischievously. He straddled Kurt's thighs and began kissing his way down Kurt's body, from the nape of his neck to the top of his spine, across shoulder blades and biceps and then back down to the curve of his waist, up the gentle slope that led to Kurt's tight round little ass. Blaine pulled back slightly and gave it a small poke just to watch how fast it bounced back.  
  
Before Kurt could act indignant about this, though, Blaine nudged Kurt's thighs apart and spread his cheeks wide, hot breath ghosting over Kurt's twitching hole.  
  
“Is this all right?” Blaine asked, lips too close to possibly misinterpret what was he was asking for.  
  
“Oh god yes,” Kurt groaned, digging his knees into the mattress and pushing his ass up closer to Blaine's face.  
  
Blaine chuckled softly as he lowered his head, burying his face in the dense, earthy smell and taste of Kurt there, the deep heat radiating from inside Kurt's body and blooming across Blaine's tongue.  
  
Blaine licked him gently, so gently it was almost heartbreaking, so intimate it almost made them both cry. He stroked over Kurt's balls and perineum with his thumbs, savoring Kurt's wanton mewls as he rocked between the friction of the mattress and the taut heat of Blaine's tongue.  
  
“Blaine,” Kurt gasped, “Blaine, please, please, please, Blaine...”  
  
Blaine breached Kurt with the tip of his tongue and Kurt threw his head back and cried out, hands twisting in the sheets beneath him.  
  
“Blaine, I'm going to – I'm going to come just from this if you don't – oh, fuck, Blaine!”  
  
Blaine groaned at Kurt's words, the vibrations making Kurt jerk and writhe.  
  
Because licking Kurt's tiny pink asshole until he came was pretty much the hottest thing Blaine could possibly think of.  
  
“Blaine, I want you,” Kurt begged. “Please, Blaine.”  
  
And as hot as this was, Blaine was only one man and he was only so strong, and he wasn't sure there was a human alive that could withstand Kurt's gorgeous pleas. Blaine gave Kurt's entrance one last hard lick before releasing him and moving to climb off the bed.  
  
“Okay, just...hold on a second, okay?” Blaine asked, voice rough and panting with his own arousal. He found the condoms and lube in his messenger bag with ease, and turned back to Kurt and almost came on the spot. Because Kurt was writhing, rutting against the mattress and emitting soft little moans while he gazed up at Blaine through lust-drunk, heavy-lidded eyes.  
  
“God, Kurt,” Blaine breathed out, racing to get back to him.  
  
“Blaine,” Kurt whimpered as Blaine climbed back on the bed and knelt behind him.  
  
“Love you,” Blaine murmured, running his hands slowly down the length of Kurt's lean, sinuous back. “You're so beautiful and so good to me, Kurt.”  
  
“Love you too,” Kurt gasped. “Loved you for so long...”  
  
Blaine pressed a tender kiss to Kurt's spit-slick hole before replacing his lips with warmed, lubed fingers. He worked Kurt open slowly but surely, not wanting to tease him too much but loving the words “Blaine” and “please” coming out of Kurt over and over again, in every combination, his voice rough and wrecked.  
  
Blaine gently urged a pillow under Kurt's hips and guided his body slightly so that Kurt was crouched on the mattress, ass in the air and hands gripping the base of the headboard. Blaine trailed tiny kisses down Kurt's spine before positioning himself behind him, holding him open and pressing into his hot, tight, perfect body as Kurt moaned loudly and struggled not to squirm.  
  
“I want to be with you forever,” Blaine confessed as he covered Kurt's body with his own, sliding his hands under Kurt's waist to hold him tight while he began rolling his hips in a slow, hard rhythm. “Only you, always you.”  
  
“F-forever,” Kurt managed through harsh pants, spreading his legs wider and moaning deep when Blaine nipped at his shoulder to punctuate a particularly well-placed thrust.  
  
Blaine pressed his forehead into the junction of Kurt's neck and shoulder, arching his back and bracing his hands beneath Kurt's waist on the bed as he began to plunge harder and deeper into Kurt's body.  
  
Kurt gripped the headboard so hard his knuckles went white, burying his face into his own bicep to muffle his wails as Blaine slammed into his prostate and made him see stars.  
  
Blaine fucked him perfectly, harder and faster the closer they got to release, but always with an undercurrent of tenderness. Always focused on Kurt's pleasure.  
  
“Kurt,” Blaine gasped out, “do you need – I don't know if I can hold myself up and–”  
  
“No,” Kurt panted, “I'm close. I don't need – I'm going to come.”  
  
“Yeah,” Blaine responded, the word coming out low and rough and sexy and almost like a growl. Kurt felt his own hips spasming out of control at the sheer desire he heard in Blaine's voice. Desire for him.  
  
Kurt clamped his eyes shut and threw his head back and came hard into the pillow with a nearly silent, breathy scream.  
  
“Oh, fuck, that is the hottest thing I've ever heard,” Blaine groaned, thrusting into Kurt faster and faster as Kurt came, groaning low and loud as Kurt's muscles clenched around him.  
  
“Kurt,” Blaine moaned into the shell of Kurt's ear, and fuck, even his ear was sweating, and how the hell was that so sexy? Blaine moaned his name again and again as he thrust as deep as possible, coming hard and gasping into Kurt's damp hair.  
  
“Oh my god,” Blaine groaned as he collapsed on top of Kurt.  
  
Kurt gave a small grunt. “You're heavy,” he mumbled, voice muffled by the pillow.  
  
Blaine laughed softly and rolled off of Kurt, tying off the condom and tossing it into the thankfully well-placed wastebasket next to the bed. Since he had already started moving (sort of), and because Kurt looked like he was on the brink of actually being classified as a liquid, Blaine decided to be a gentleman and tend to the clean-up. He fought valiantly against heavy limbs and heavier eyelids, stumbling into the bathroom and half-blindly groping for a washcloth, waiting for the water to run hot before he soaked the cloth. He flicked on the bedside lamp nearest his side of the bed – he was assuming Kurt wasn't going to move far enough to switch sides at this point – and turned off the overhead light before climbing back into bed with Kurt.  
  
“Ku-urt,” Blaine sang softly, nudging at his waist. Kurt groaned.  
  
“Can't move. Too well-fucked.”  
  
Blaine smirked. “I'll take that as a compliment. But do you really want to sleep in a patch of your own dried come all night?”  
  
Kurt made an exasperated noise like Blaine was demanding something wholly unreasonable of him, and slowly rolled onto his back. Blaine wiped Kurt down carefully and thoroughly, throwing the come-soaked pillow to the floor (the hotel had provided like six pillows anyway, so whatever), and then pulling the covers up over him.  
  
“Mmmm,” Kurt murmured happily as Blaine climbed under the covers as well and settled in next to him, pulling him close. “I am so happy we're not hiking into Canada after all, because now I really am sore.”  
  
“If we get there,” Blaine began softly, the if settling over them like lead, “I want to go on the straight and narrow, Kurt.  Well, so to speak.”   
  
Kurt opened his eyes halfway and gave Blaine a small smile from where his head lay cradled on Blaine’s bicep.  “I’ll never even go a mile over the speed limit,” Kurt promised.  
  
“We’ll get all of our pets licensed, even the indoor cats.”  
  
“Even our tank of exotic saltwater fish.”  
  
Blaine frowned.  “That sounds like an awful lot of work,” he mused, pressing a soft kiss to Kurt’s forehead.  “Don’t expect me to help you change the water in the tank every month.”  
  
“Mmmm,” Kurt responded with a smile, his eyes sliding closed once again.  “It’ll be our pool boy’s job.”  
  
“We’ll have a pool boy?” Blaine asked with a broad grin.  “In Canada?”  
  
“Of course we will, Blaine, we’ll be extremely wealthy.”  
  
Blaine chuckled softly.  “That sounds fabulous.  But you and a roof over my head are all I need to be happy.”  
  
Kurt sighed happily, wrapping his arm more tightly around Blaine’s waist.  
  
“Blaine?” Kurt ventured after a long silence.    
  
“Mmmm?” Blaine returned.  
  
“Will you...if we get to Canada, will you promise to talk to someone? About...?”  
  
“Yeah,” Blaine answered, very quietly.  “I will, but - you too?”  
  
Kurt sucked in a breath.  “It was a long time ago, Blaine,” he nearly whispered.  Blaine looked down at Kurt’s face, his eyes clenched shut.  He ran a ghost-soft thumb over the apple of Kurt’s cheek, and Kurt exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing slightly.  
  
“I know,” Blaine conceded softly, “but I think - I think we need to, Kurt.  Both of us.”  
  
“Okay,” Kurt finally agreed, his voice quiet but confident.  “Okay, we both will.  If - if we make it to Canada.”  Kurt swallowed thickly, and Blaine wrapped his arms more tightly around him.  
  
“How do you think she’s planning to get us across?”  
  
“I shudder to think,” Kurt said with a sigh.  
  
Blaine smiled thoughtfully, stroking a hand up and down Kurt's arm. “Are you scared?” he asked.  
  
“Terrified,” Kurt admitted, looking at Blaine. “But I feel – I don't know. As...um...crusty as Santana may be, I really do feel safe with her.”  
  
“Me too,” Blaine murmured. “I don't even know her, but I don't think she would do anything to hurt us.”

**~000~**

“Get in.”

  
“What?” Kurt shrieked, staring into the trunk of Santana's rental car in horror.  
  
“Get. In.”  
  
“I...uh...this is kind of stretching the boundaries of the trust we've established,” Blaine said nervously.  
  
They had pulled off the road about twenty miles from the border, and apparently this was Santana's idea of a foolproof plan to get them into Canada.  
  
“What else did you think we were going to do?” Santana demanded impatiently.  
  
“You said you had documentation for us,” Blaine answered. “I thought–”  
  
“I have documentation for you in Winnipeg. Winnipeg. As in Manitoba. As in across the fucking border. Were you guys listening to me at all last night?”  
  
“Of course we were,” Kurt snapped. “There was just a lot to take in, okay? But if I'd known this was your brilliant master plan–”  
  
Santana sighed. “You do realize your pictures are probably up at every border stop from here to Vancouver, don't you? That bogus satellite read may have them looking for you in Michigan, but I guarantee you that they've got their bases covered. This is the only shot we've got. Trust me. I never get searched. I'm too adorable. Now get the fuck in the trunk.”  
  
Blaine and Kurt exchanged nervous glances.  
  
“I don't think we have much choice,” Blaine said with a shrug, climbing in and curling up onto his side. Kurt sighed heavily and followed suit, settling in front of Blaine and failing to fight a grin when Blaine spooned up against him from behind.  
  
“Well, I guess this is karma for what we did to that police officer in Wisconsin,” Kurt mused.  
  
“Nah,” Santana said, smiling down at them before slamming the trunk shut. “Karma would involve air holes.”

  
**~000~**   


  
The journey into Winnipeg would have been a blur if every second in the trunk hadn't felt like pitch-black adrenaline-soaked terror. They held hands tightly, not even daring to whisper when the car stopped for what felt like far, far too long, and all Blaine could think of was prison and Luke Peterson and not Kurt, not Kurt, please god don't ever let that happen to Kurt. Blaine clutched him close and breathed his scent and closed his eyes and prayed that they would make it.  
  
And they did.  
  
Of course they did. Santana pulled up to the border with a bright, easy smile and a round of flirty banter, and the customs officer handed back her passport with a wink and let her slide on through like silk.  
  
She waited until she was almost an hour past the border to let the boys out of the trunk, mostly to be cautious but partly for her own amusement.  
  
When she opened the trunk, both their eyes were clamped shut and their bodies were rigid with fear.  
  
“Hey, Wonder Twins,” she called down to them. “You can stop shitting bricks already. We're here.”  
  
Blaine was the first to crack open an eye. “We're here?” he breathed, as if saying the words too loudly would shatter their meaning completely.  
  
“Yup. Well, we're still a few hours from Winnipeg, but we are officially not in a country where either of you are wanted for murder or armed robbery. Or assaulting a police officer. Or willful destruction of property. You boys want to do me a favor and keep it that way? Because I am not interested in sneaking your perky asses into Greenland.”  
  
Kurt sat up and rubbed his eyes. “We're in Canada,” he said simply, his voice dazed and full of wonder. “Blaine, we're in Canada.”  
  
“We're in Canada,” Blaine repeated, just as stunned.  
  
“And they say the American educational system is a joke,” Santana muttered. “You want to sit there all day telling each other where you are, or do you want to join me in the car like civilized human beings?”  
  
“We're in Canada,” Kurt said again, and started to cry. Blaine wrapped his arms around him and they both sobbed, their bodies shaking the entire car with the force of it.  
  
And Santana absolutely, positively did not start crying too.  
  
She just had something in her fucking eye, that was all.  
  


**~000~**

  
The place they would be calling home was really nothing impressive.  
  
Santana may have been well-connected, but she also hadn't had much time to prepare. She set them up in a modest pay-by-the-week furnished apartment that was clean and pleasant enough, even though it looked like it had been designed by an eighty year old woman with a serious lace addiction. There was a tiny stand-up shower in a minuscule bathroom, and a kitchen with ancient appliances and one of those linoleum floors that was so old it looked dirty no matter how thoroughly it was cleaned. The rest of the apartment sported a truly uninspired low-pile beige carpet, and there were far too many paintings of lighthouses.  
  
But it got a lot of natural light, and the bed seemed comfortable, and most of all it was theirs. And that made it the best place either one of them had ever lived.  
  
Santana dropped them off and went to pick up their paperwork (“of course you can't come, are you insane?”), and by the time she returned they had already unpacked what few belongings they still had left in the world.  On the refrigerator, the single magnet left behind by a previous tenant held up a Polaroid of two best friends, their cheeks pressed close, ready to embark on an adventure.  
  
“Okay. So here's a map of the city and here's a bus schedule. You'll probably be here for at least a little while, so hold onto them.”  
  
Kurt and Blaine both glanced at the papers she handed them perfunctorily before looking quickly back to the very official documents in her hands.  
  
Santana exhaled heavily. “These are – these documents are fakes, of course, but they're pretty much the best fakes you can get, so don't lose any of them. I don't know how thoroughly embedded into public records any of this is, so trying to get a replacement could get sticky.”  
  
Santana paused, looked at each man meaningfully in turn. “Here are your passports.” Her voice was serious, almost solemn. They took the passports from Santana with shaking hands and opened them carefully.  
  
Blaine choked on air.  
  
“Harry Richards?” he demanded. “The name you gave me is Harry Richards?”  
  
“Harry Blaine Richards,” Santana answered, clearly trying not to laugh. “See? I gave you both your actual names as middle names. That way it won't seem odd if you use them, but you can avoid using them if you need to.”  
  
“But Harry Richards?”  
  
“Hey, at least your name isn't a nightmare of alliteration,” Kurt observed flatly. “Caleb Kurt Kenneth Catalogna? Really?”  
  
“I believe that's pronounced 'thank you',” Santana snapped. “Just count yourself lucky that you aren't Gaylord Hymen, because that was a close second choice. And you.” Blaine cowered slightly as she rounded on him. “Just be glad I decided to go subtle, because I really did think that Harry Dicks had a nice ring to it. Now do you want fake citizenship or don't you?”  
  
“Sorry,” Blaine said, hanging his head. “You're right. We're very grateful.”  
  
“Well I'm glad to hear that, Harry,” Santana replied with a smirk. “Now. Birth certificates, Social Insurance cards, diplomas–”  
  
“D-diplomas?” Kurt asked, staring at the papers remaining in her hands in nervous anticipation.  
  
“Diplomas. I stuck with equivalent degrees to what you both already have – Journalism for you,” she said nodding to Blaine, “and Applied Design for you.” She handed them their Ryerson University diplomas, seeming oddly amused at the name of the university itself as she did so, and Kurt cradled his like it was made of blown glass. Blaine was fighting back tears of joy.  
  
“And here are your backstories. Memorize them and then burn them, okay?” Santana handed each man a folder.  “They should account for most of the cultural missteps you’ll inevitably make, but you’ll have to wing a lot of it too, so I’d start reading up on Canadian history and politics pretty much immediately.”  
  
“S-Santana, I don't even know how to–” Kurt really was starting to cry, and he was looking at her like she was some sort of deity.  
  
“Yeah, well, just – just live, okay? Don't break any more laws – I'm serious, don't even fucking jaywalk if there's an ordinance against it – and just live. Now give me your guns.”  
  
The two men gaped at her.  
  
“But we–” Kurt began.  
  
“Give me your guns,” Santana repeated.  
  
“Okay,” Blaine agreed quickly. “I never want to touch this thing again anyway. Oh! Um, could you – maybe–”  
  
Santana looked on curiously as Blaine pulled a small notebook out of his messenger bag and scrawled a quick note. He handed it to her along with the Jericho, and Santana burst out laughing when she read it.  
  
“You know something, Blaine, you're all right,” she said.  
  
Blaine grinned. “Call me Harry.”  
  


**~000~**

  
The biggest surprise happened just as Santana was about to leave. She had already pressed some cash on them, which both men had sworn they would find a way to repay along with everything else, and she almost managed to slip out the door before Kurt spotted the envelope she had left on the coffee table.  
Inside the envelope was a bank card and a pamphlet, containing a deposit slip.  
  
Kurt dropped the slip almost as soon as he looked at it.  
  
“Santana,” he said, his voice unsteady, “You can't.”  
  
“I can and I did, so take it,” Santana insisted.  
  
“But–”  
  
“I'm not just giving it to you. I'm buying your car.”  
  
Kurt just stared at her.  
  
“Look, it's a sexy vintage convertible and this is actually a steal for me. Do you have any idea what '69 Camaro convertibles in that kind of condition are going for? I know a guy that can change it up a bit, give it a paint job, no one will ever know it was yours. Besides, cherry red is more my color than black. You're doing me a favor.”  
  
“Don't say that,” Kurt whispered. “You – I'm not doing you a favor, I can never repay you for this. Never.”  
  
“Kurt,” Santana said, looking him square in the eye, “you already have repaid me. You let me help you.”  
  
Kurt bit his trembling lip and then threw his arms around Santana, ignoring her startled shriek.  
  
“Hey, watch it, you're going to wrinkle my– OOF!” Santana nearly had the wind knocked out of her when Blaine launched himself at her as well, trapping her between the two boys.  
  
“Oh my god, this is seriously threatening to turn me even gayer,” Santana grumbled, but failed to fight off a smile.  
  
Santana finally left after looking at their couch disdainfully when they offered to let her stay.  She promised to contact them as soon as it was safe, and then she was gone and they were on their own.    
  
Kurt and Blaine stared at the closed door behind her for a long, long time. When Blaine finally turned to Kurt, it was with a steadily widening smile. It wasn't a simple smile; there was fear behind it, and uncertainty and shock and even ameasure of pain. But more than that, there was excitement. There was awe. And Blaine's mounting joy was downright palpable.  
  
“So,” he said, as Kurt bit his lip against his ownridiculous grin, “What do you want to do tomorrow?”


	20. Epilogue

 

**Five years later**

**New York / Melbourne**

  
Trent looked up and smiled when the front door to the bar swung open.    
  
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he smiled, leaning against the bar.  “And how is my favorite neighborhood P.I. this lovely winter’s eve?”  
  
Santana smiled back.  “I’m fantastic, actually.  Just nailed some deadbeat dad’s balls to the wall - four years worth of back child support he was claiming he couldn’t pay, meanwhile he was hiding away close to a million dollars in overseas accounts.”  Her laugh turned into a cackle.  “You should have seen him in court.  He fucking cried.”  
  
“Oh, Santana, no one else can balance morality and vindictiveness like you,” Trent mused.  “You here to pick up Britt?”  
  
“Yeah.  Let’s just say ex-Mrs. Deadbeat was very happy with my services, and I’ve got an enormous check burning a hole in my pocket.  Thought I’d treat my best girl to dinner.”  
  
“I thought I was your only girl,” Brittany said, coming out of the back freshly changed from her work uniform.  She slipped her arms around Santana’s waist when she reached her, and gave her a warm kiss.  
  
“Well, you are.  But that doesn’t mean you aren’t also the best,” Santana murmured, kissing Brittany again.  
  
“So,” Trent said, reaching a hand out to stop Santana before she and Brittany could head out the door. “Um, any word from Caleb and Harry?”  
  
“Yeah, actually,” Santana answered with a smile.  “You heard about the law just passed by the Australian Parliament, I presume?”  
  
Trent grinned.  “Yeah.  That’s what I was wondering actually.  Are they...?”  
  
“They are.  I could practically hear Catalogna weeping through the email when he told me.  It was ridiculous.”  
  
“Wow,” Trent breathed.  “I really need to get out there and visit them.  To say ‘I told you so’ if nothing else.”  
  
“I think they’d really appreciate that,” Santana said, her voice taking on the soft quality that it sometimes did when she talked about those particular boys.  “Britt and I were talking about going too.  Maybe you two could find someone else to run the bar for a few weeks and we can all go.”  
  
“Hmmmm.  Are Australian men really as hot as everyone says?” Trent mused.  
  
“Hotter,” Brittany said automatically.  “But...uh...not as hot as Santana though,” she amended when Santana raised an eyebrow at her.  
  
“Well.  I’ll ask them when they might be ready for guests again and we can start planning,” Santana said.  “though I may need you to confirm my superior hotness in writing first,” she added, looking at Brittany pointedly.  
  
“Wait...again?  They’ve had other guests?  But I thought no one else...you know...knew where they were exactly.”  
  
“They didn’t,” Santana confirmed.  “But that will only be true for about another six hours.”  
  
Trent smiled curiously.  “Really, now.  Do tell.”  
  
Santana shrugged innocently.  “All I know is that some particular people may have happened to win all-expenses-paid trips to Melbourne.  But you didn’t hear that from me.”  
  
“Do I ever hear anything from you?” Trent deadpanned.  
  
“Not on the record you don’t,” Santana replied with a wink, linking her arm with Brittany’s and leading her toward the door.  


 

**~000~**

 

Blaine watched as Kurt bustled around their Fitzroy terrace house at top speed, radiating a nervous energy that seemed to permeate the entire house.

“Kurt,” Blaine said, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around him as Kurt rearranged the flowers on the table for probably the dozenth time. “It's going to be fine. The flowers look beautiful. Everything looks beautiful. You just need to relax.”  
  
“But what if they hate it? What if they're too angry to want to see us? What if they gave their tickets away? What if–”  
  
“Kurt. Santana put them on the plane herself yesterday. They're going to be ecstatic.”  
  
“I'm scared,” Kurt confessed quietly. Blaine lifted his hand and kissed it.  
  
“I know. Me too. But we've done much scarier things than this before. Aren't you excited?”  
  
Kurt nodded, but his heart was beating hard and fast. Blaine rocked him slowly, humming their song.  
  
Kurt smiled, closing his eyes and letting Blaine's rich, sweet voice wash over him.  
  
“Are you sure this is the right address? It doesn't look like a bed and breakfast to me,” came a loud American voice from outside. Both men froze.  
  
“Th-that's – they're here,” Kurt said weakly.  
  
“They are,” Blaine agreed, swallowing a sudden lump that seemed to have formed in his throat. “Let's – we should go outside.”  
  
Kurt and Blaine opened the front door of their terrace house, gasping almost simultaneously at the sight – however anticipated – that greeted them.  
  
Finn was the first to turn around.  
  
“Kurt? “ He asked in wide-eyed astonishment.  “B-Blaine? Kurt?”  
  
Two suitcases crashed to the ground as Carole and Cooper turned as well.  
  
“Blaine!” Cooper screamed, not pausing for even a second before he was running to his brother, hugging him so hard he actually lifted him off the ground. Carole and Finn stood frozen, staring in disbelief.  
  
Kurt walked toward them. “Finn, Carole, I–”  
  
Carole burst into tears, and would have sunk all the way to the pavement beneath her feet if Finn hadn't caught her.  
  
“Kurt,” she sobbed, and then he was in her arms.  
  
They didn't care how it must have looked to the neighbors. Finn and Carole and Kurt clutched at one another, a cluster of sobs and hugs and disbelieving stares. Blaine was crying so hard he almost sounded like an animal in pain, and Cooper was almost definitely bruising Blaine’s ribs.  
  
“I knew – I can't believe we didn't figure out the connection,” Cooper finally said, laughing through his tears as he looked over to Finn and Carole.  
  
“How the did you – what – I mean, God, Kurt, we thought you were dead,” Carole sobbed, clutching at him.  
  
“I didn't,” Finn countered fiercely. “They never found your bodies. I knew you had gotten away.”  
  
Kurt gave Finn a watery smile. “I've missed you both so much,” he said, barely able to get the words out, his voice was shaking so hard.  
  
“Oh, sweetheart,” Carole said, smoothing back Kurt's hair, “you have no idea.”  


 

**~000~**

  
The group finally managed to get the suitcases and themselves into the house, and Kurt busied himself making tea while Blaine showed them to the sitting room.  
  
When Finn unceremoniously asked “so what happened?  Did you actually kill that guy or what?” upon sitting down, Blaine flinched.  He and Kurt had talked about this - how much to share, how to remain honest without going into unnecessary detail, but now that he was faced with their families, staring up at him with sincere, curious (and perhaps a bit judgmental? Was he imagining that?) eyes, he found himself tripping over his own words.  
  
“I...we...it’s complicated.  But...we didn’t intentionally...I mean, we didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” Blaine stammered.  
  
“Things got bad and I don’t think you’re going to like a lot of what we have to tell you,” Kurt said softly, walking into the room carrying a tray of tea and scones.  “Is it all right if we save the more unpleasant aspects of our adventure for later?  Right now I just want to - I don’t know about Blaine, but I’m not quite ready for things to grow that somber just yet.”  Kurt sat down next to Blaine on the loveseat and gave his hand a squeeze.  
  
Blaine knew what Kurt wasn’t saying, what Kurt had whispered into Blaine’s neck through his tears in the small hours of the night.  “I’m not ready to see the way they’ll look at me when they find out I’m a murderer.”  Blaine understood.  His fear wasn’t the same, but he didn’t relish seeing Cooper’s reaction when he told him what Sebastian had done, how weak it had made him feel, and how reckless he had let himself become as a result.  
  
The reasons for waiting so long to reunite with their families were varied, but if they were being entirely honest, neither man could deny that fear was a measurable part of it.  
  
“Well, I can't say I'm sorry about the fact that we'll be spending Christmases in Australia from now on,” Carole said with a warm smile, shifting the topic tactfully.  “But how on earth did you boys end up here of all places?”  
  
“We–” Kurt looked at Blaine and smiled. “We managed to get into Canada and secure new identities with some help from a friend.  We started out in Winnipeg and then moved to  Montreal after a few months, but it was too close to the border. All the cities we liked were too close to the border. I saw a woman who used to come into Songbirds once on rue Sainte-Catherine, and I kind of freaked out.”  
  
Blaine chuckled, rolling his eyes fondly. “Kind of?”  
  
Kurt pretended to ignore him. “Anyway, we started looking overseas and then Blaine got offered a job at The Age so we ended up here.  And we really liked it, so we decided to stay.”  
  
“Kurt’s designing fabric,” Blaine added proudly.  Carole’s eyes lit up in obvious interest.  
  
“Well,” Cooper said, “Whatever happened, when you sell the movie rights I call dibs on playing you, Blaine.”  
  
“Dibs on Kurt!” Finn added quickly. Blaine opened his mouth to respond, looking back and forth between Finn and Cooper, who sat grinning at them obliviously. He finally shrugged, glancing at Kurt, and closed his mouth with a smile.  
  
“We would have contacted you sooner,” Blaine said apologetically, “but we, um, had to be careful. We wanted to wait until we were relatively certain it would be safe.”    
  
“Also,” Kurt added, clapping his hands together and bouncing slightly with excitement, “we have news. And we really wanted our family around us for it.”  
  
Blaine slipped his arm around Kurt’s waist. Cooper, Finn and Carole looked at them expectantly.  
  
“Um. I don't know if you've heard about the law that was just passed here, but–” Blaine began.  
  
“Holy shit, you're getting married?” Finn demanded. Carole squealed, her hands flying to her mouth to try and contain her excitement. Cooper took the same approach that he had on the sidewalk, and leapt off the couch, yanking Kurt and Blaine to their feet and sweeping them both into a bone-crushing hug.  
  
“Yes,” Kurt confirmed, laughing. “We're getting married. Next week, actually.  You will come, won’t you?”  
  
As soon as Cooper had loosened his hold, Carole pulled both boys into her arms. “Up until a half hour ago I thought I had lost a son, but now I find out I’m getting two back instead of one?  You just try and keep me away,”  she murmured, tears beginning to flow once again.  She kissed each of their foreheads before letting Finn have his turn, bending down to wrap his long arms around them both.  
  
“I'm really glad we found you, dudes,” Finn sighed.  
  
“Me too, Finn,” Kurt agreed.  
  
Blaine moved away to let Kurt and Finn hold each other, leaning into Cooper's side.  
  
“Hey,” Cooper murmured, low enough so only Blaine could hear. “You happy, Squirt?”  
  
Blaine rolled his eyes. “Do not call me squirt. And yeah, Coop, especially now that you guys are here, I didn't think I could ever be this happy.”  
  
“And...you will tell me what happened, won’t you?”  
  
Blaine swallowed.  “Yeah.  I promise.”  
  
Cooper wrapped his arm around Blaine, and then Kurt swatted at Finn for messing up his hair, leading Carole to fuss over Kurt's hair, and Kurt just looked so irritably, exasperatedly full of joy that Blaine thought his heart might burst. Their eyes met and Kurt smiled, his eyes crinkling in that way that always made Blaine fall in love a little bit more.  
  
Blaine smiled back at his fiance before taking his brother's hand, and walking over to join the rest of his family.  


 

**Saturday, 9:48a.m. - 10:12a.m.**

**New York**

  
“God damn it, Tyler, did you put that almond milk shit in my coffee again?”  
  
Tyler sighed. “You know what the doctor said, Dave, you–”  
  
“I don't give a fuck what the doctor said. And I don't need to hear you yapping about my cholesterol first thing in the morning, okay?”  
  
Tyler narrowed his eyes but cast them down to the floor. “I was just trying to help.”  
  
“Yeah, well all you're doing is helping to piss me off. If you – what's that?”  
  
Dave picked up a package from the kitchen counter where it sat alongside the mail.  
  
“Oh. That came for you yesterday. It's kind of weird, though, there's no postmark. Are you expecting something?”  
  
Dave grunted by way of reply, ripping the brown paper off the outside of the box as he walked out of the kitchen and toward his bedroom. He didn't need Tyler watching his every move and asking him shit all the time. Maybe it was a present from that cute intern.  
  
Dave opened the shoebox that the paper had been concealing, and abruptly froze in his tracks, his jaw falling open in surprise.  
  
Inside the box was a gun.  
  
His gun. His gun that he hadn't seen in five years. And with it was a note.  
  
Dave stared at the gun, and then at the note, and then back at the gun again.  
  
“Sweetie? Is everything okay?” came Tyler's voice from the kitchen.  
  
“Yeah, uh – yes. Yes, everything is–” Dave stuffed the gun and the note back into the box and hurried back into the kitchen.  
  
“Hey,” he said, walking up to Tyler and giving him a hug. Tyler's breath hitched in obvious surprise. “I'm sorry. I'm just having kind of a crappy morning, but I shouldn't take it out on you.”  
  
Tyler stared at him incredulously when they pulled away. “Um. Okay?”  
  
“Look, how about I take you out tonight. We can go to that new restaurant you wanted to try.”  
  
“I – that sounds great, Dave, but don't you usually work late on Saturday nights?”  
  
“Yeah,” Dave acknowledged. “But, uh – I think maybe it's time I tried something new.”  
  
Before he left the apartment, Dave grabbed the box, because holy shit did he need to get rid of that thing as soon as possible. He paused before putting the lid back on the shoebox, reading the note in his ex-husband's neat scrawl one last time.  
  
 _Dear Dave,_  
 _Here is your gun back. I used up all the bullets - sorry about that._  
  
 _Hope you are well,_  
 _Blaine_

  
~ **[The End](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g-6a9jC-K8I)** ~


	21. Soundtrack

**Chapter 1**  
[Prelude to a Kiss](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9tcFRtL5U2c) (Sarah Vaughan version)  
[Walking Down Your Street](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ios61sq9QVA) (The Bangles)

**Chapter 2**  
[Rumour Has It](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uK3MLlTL5Ko) (Adele)  
[More Than This](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kOnde5c7OG8) (Roxy Music)  
[Norwegian Wood](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kvTnX-KzmTY) (The Beatles)

**Chapter 3**  
[Sandstorm](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PSYxT9GM0fQ) (Darude)  
[Don't Call Me Baby](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D4-PcMSxrUA) (Madison Avenue)

**Chapter 4**  
[Dark Horizon](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yKNs4W4qNL0) (Dark Moon)

**Chapter 5**  
[Mad World](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SFsHSHE-iJQ) (Tears for Fears)

**Chapter 6**  
[I Ran](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0_Pq0xYr3L4) (A Flock of Seagulls)

**Chapter 7**  
[National Radio Quiet Zone](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_National_Radio_Quiet_Zone) (i.e. no songs this chapter)

**Chapter 8**  
[Rose's Turn](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rv1p1Vea0iY) (Ethel Merman version)  
[Escapade](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UFX3gQHIroU) (Janet Jackson)  
[Lullaby](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cSRKhfolyd0&feature=related) (The Cure)

**Chapter 9**  
[California Love](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FWOsbGP5Ox4&feature=player_detailpage#t=78s) (Tupac)  
[The Boy is Mine](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Va1Y6uAgNJY) (Brandy & Monica)

**Chapter 10**  
[The Joker](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pPOKJikcYMk) (Steve Miller Band)  
[Never Tear Us Apart](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iQL-b0Bp_9E&feature=related) (INXS)

**Chapter 11**  
[Overcome](http://www.metacafe.com/watch/5392358/tricky_overcome/) (Tricky)

**Chapter 12**  
[You Can't Always Get What You Want](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OagFIQMs1tw&feature=player_detailpage#t=53s) (Rolling Stones)

**Chapter 13**  
[Our Lips Are Sealed](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r3kQlzOi27M) (The Go-Go's)  
[Precious](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3YA3hZEDPNI) (The Pretenders)

**Chapter 14**  
[Shout](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=54IN3URGuM8) (Tears for Fears)

**Chapter 15**  
[Beds are Burning](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ejorQVy3m8E&feature=player_detailpage#t=0s) (Midnight Oil)  
[Cherokee](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PDbPrOuXq2s) (Cat Power)

**Chapter 16**  
[Psycho Killer](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O52jAYa4Pm8&feature=related) (Talking Heads)

**Chapter 17**  
[You'll Accomp'ny Me](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zbsj0bPyiQI) (Bob Seger and The Silver Bullet Band)  
[Tarzan Boy](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_r0n9Dv6XnY) (Baltimora)

**Chapter 18**  
[Miles From Nowhere](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jzplmeMMB84) (Cat Stevens)

**Chapter 19**  
[Midnight Confessions](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1yqVIvIciUg) (The Grass Roots)  
[The Promise](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5HI_xFQWiYU) (When In Rome)

**Epilogue**  
[You Got It](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g-6a9jC-K8I) (Roy Orbison)


End file.
